Hero
by AlyssaSpencer
Summary: War veteran Oliver Cohen comes home to New York after seven years of fighting for his country to find that everything has changed - music, fashion, crime and people. Now, gifted with a new opportunity that a dear friend left behind, he must find a way to live with the past while trying to build a better future. (CSI:NY crimes featured)
1. Chapter 1

_**AN:/ The Diner scene actually happened – I was at my local diner (Not Mickey's) and a soldier came in looking for his sister. What I wrote for that scene was what I remembered what happened – although the sister part is not included. **_

With soaring skyscrapers, bustling people, music, and the constant noise from traffic and pedestrians, New York City was an entirely different world from the barren wasteland Oliver Cohen had previously been in not twenty-four hours ago. Surrounded by tall buildings of glass and concrete, offices were alive with energy: ringing telephones, chattering employees, and clacking keyboards. On the street beside him, cars honked their horns; a traffic cop blew his shrill whistle.

Oliver wasn't in the war-zone anymore, yet he'd have to battle a few New Yorkers to get where he needs to.

Walking down Broadway in his full Marine desert cami uniform, tac-pack and rifle case in all, defiantly turned heads even from the people accustomed to the strangeness of New York City. Few men and women greeted him on the street to thank him for his service and when they did, he'd ask the same question, "Where's the nearest police station?" Almost no one he talked to knew where a single police station was.

It was around noon when he decided to step into a small diner across the street. On the outside, it looked like an diner from the 70s – red and blue neon lights wrapping around the top of the outer walls, black and white checkered tiles along the bottom walls, and a sign that read 'Mickey's Diner' so faded that it looked like it could disappear with a single gust of wind.

When Oliver walked in and he saw the inside fitted a diner's stereotype – black and white checkered tile flooring, red vinyl covering the booths and swing stools at the bar, and sports memorabilia hanging on the white walls with pharmed photos of classic cars. Looking around, the diner seemed to be a gathering place for elderly people with one woman in her early twenties and a single family spread around. In the corner by the jukebox, a few old women sat around playing cards and sipping their tea cups. Three old men, all wearing black baseball caps, were sitting at the silver bar trying to flirt with the waitress with the cheap red-dyed hair covering up the grey. The woman in her twenties sat by the window typing furiously on her laptop as she simultaneously read what was on the paper in her lap. A mother and father tried to coax their small son to eat his pickle and not the cookie that came with the meal. The low buzz of chatter stopped when the bell above the door chimed Oliver's arrival. Mickey's Diner had suddenly gone completely still and silent until the waitress said, "Welcome home, Soldier."

Oliver didn't know what to say, everyone was looking at him, so he bowed his head in appreciation. Then there was a scarping of chairs, the loud noise of shoes hitting the floor, and the next moment, Oliver found himself shaking hands with everyone in Mickey's Diner.

"Welcome home, son," one of the elderly men who was at the bar said, patting Oliver's shoulder. The baseball cap he wore had Vietnam Veteran on it with the service ribbon between the words.

"Thank you," the second elderly man said. His baseball cap had Korea Defense Veteran on it along with the service ribbon. The third man, more weary looking than the others, just shook Oliver's hand. His cap had Korea-Vietnam Veteran with five ribbons.

"So proud, young man, so proud," the elderly woman chorus over each other, kissing Oliver's cheeks and leaving smeared pink lipstick.

"Alright you old hags, let the man breathe," A man with a rugged voice said. Oliver couldn't see his face from where he leaned against a pillar in the shadows, but he could tell the man was on in his years yet could still hold his own.

"Oh you," one of the elderly women said, waving her hand at the man. "Crime now to kiss a hero?"

"Don't think you're the girl he wants kissn' him," the man said as he pushed away from the pillar. He was dressed in a NYPD blue long sleeved patrol uniform, his silver badge catching the sunlight. White, mid-fifties, with silver hair cropped short to his strained face that barred the lines of experience. "Ain't that right hero?"

"Don't mind in the least, ma'am," Oliver said, winking down at the elderly women. They blushed.

"Don't encourage them," the officer said as he stepped forward to take Oliver by the arm and guide him to a stool. "Here, put your bags down."

"Here you go, handsome," the waitress said, placing a cup of black coffee and a grilled Ruben in front of him.

"I didn't order this," Oliver said, but the waitress winked. He reached into this pocket and pulled out his wallet. When he opened it he sighed, saying sheepishly, "You accept Iranian Rials?"

She just smiled and patted his hand. "On the house, handsome."

"Hey, what 'bout me?" the officer said, holding out his arms.

The waitress lifted her penciled eyebrow and pointed a polished finger at him. "You didn't just come back from a war, tracking sand in all over my diner."

"Sorry, ma'am" Oliver grimaced, looking down at the sand pile beneath his bags.

"Twenty-two years on the force and a guy can't even get a free cup o' coffee," the officer muttered just loud enough for her to hear. "Anyway," the officer said, turning his body towards Oliver, "you got a name, hero?"

Oliver swallowed the large bite of the Ruben he was chewing. "Gunnery Sergeant Cohen, sir."

"Well, Gunnery Sergeant Cohen," the officer said a bit mockingly, "Is there a first name somewhere in there?"

"Oliver," he said, sticking out his hand.

"Officer Mike Rori," the officer replied, shaking his hand. "When'd your plane touch down, Cohen?"

Oliver checked his watch before answering. "Hour and a half ago."

"If I was you, I'd be shacked up with my girl," Mike said, pointing down at the sliver band on Oliver's left hand, "and not here drinking a cup of stale coffee."

Oliver smiled at that. "Need to find someone first. I could use your help, matter of fact."

"Really?" Mike looked interested. "What can an old cop do for you, war hero?"

Oliver pulled a photograph out of his vest pocket and slid it across the bar to Mike. "Looking for this guy-"

"Detective Don Flack." Mike said, picking up the photograph.

"You know him?" Oliver asked, somewhat surprised.

"Know him?" Mike said, flicking the corner of the photograph before handing it back to Oliver. "I've been working with the guy for seven years. Lucky you ran into me, huh hero?"

AN:/ How's the first chapter? Any questions about what's going on just let me know.


	2. Chapter 2

Standing in front of the kitchen stove was a five-foot-seven woman in black silk kimono covering her black Adventure Time Marceline tank and panty sleep set with red lace detailing; her silky black hair was pulled into long pig-tails on either side of her head, thick bangs over her forehead and stopped above her eyebrows, two separate strands of bright dyed-red hair were left out of the pig tails and framed her face. All the black she wore seemed to accent her porcelain complex and vibrant green eyes. Next to the stove, on the counter was a half-empty bottle of Vodka and a bottle of Tylenol. Kenzi Cohen seemed mighty out of place in the pricy New York loft apartment with her Goth style.

"Grilled cheese!" she hollered over her shoulder and not three seconds later two pairs of running, slippered feet slid into the kitchen.

"I win!" The little boy declared, pulling out his chair at the buffet counter and climbed on to it. He was only five years old, so most things were still a bit tall for him. He had squishy baby cheeks, a button nose, and almond shaped blue eyes. When he smiled, you could see two teeth missing and he was quite proud of that.

"Nah uh!" The second child, a girl, yelled. Being six, she could easily slide into her chair. A fact she often bragged about to her brother. She had the same face as her brother, yet her eyes were the lightest of green and not blue. And unlike her brother, her hair was light blonde in color and flowed to the middle of her back. Her brother's hair was cut close to his head was dark brown in color.

Their verbal fighting continued until Kenzi walked over to the table carrying their plates. They both shut up long enough to take a bite and even then, the silence didn't last long. The little boy silently pushed his plate away and squished up his face.

"What's the matter, Tommy?" Kenzi asked, leaning across the counter top.

"Daddy always makes my grilled cheese with munster," he said pathetically, pronouncing 'mustard' wrong.

"Well, for all the things your dad does right, making a good grilled cheese is not one of them."

"But I like mine with munster!" Tommy yelled, picking up the sandwich, hoping off the stool and running to the window. Kenzi looked at his sister, but she just shrugged and continued to eat her own sandwich. Then, she heard the window open, the sound of the city, and then silence as the window shut again. A few seconds later, Tommy came back in and climbed back into his chair.

"Did-Did you just throw your sandwich out the window, Thomas Cohen?"

"It taste like doo-doo."

"Do you know what happens to little boys who don't eat their lunches?" Kenzi asked softly, walking two fingers towards him as she bent over. "They come after them in the middle of the night, from closets and under beds."

"W-What does?" he asked timidly.

"Goblins!" Kenzi shouted, slamming her hand down on the counter. The sudden noise surprised the children so much that they actually jumped.

"I-I'm not scared…" Tommy said, puffing out his chest. "I'll be like Papa and-and I'll fight 'em off!"

A sad smile broke across Kenzi's face. She ruffled the little boy's hair before pulling back to the other side of the counter. "Sure, kid."

"You don't believe me?"

"No," his sister quickly said, calmly sipping her milk. When she brought the glass down, she had a milk mustache.

"I so can fight off goblins!" Tommy said, pulling his feet onto the chair. "You're the one who's scared, Katie."

"Are not!" She shouted. To Katherine Cohen, being called scared was one of the worst names you could call a person. "You take that back!"

"Or what?" the boy mocked, sticking his tongue out.

"Ugh!" Katie growled, lunging at her brother. If it wasn't for Kenzi practically diving over the counter to separate the two, Tommy most certainly would have added new stiches to his collection.

"Alright! Alright, break it up you too," she said as the phone began to ring. She glanced over her shoulder at it before threatening the two kids, "If you two don't knock it off real soon, I'm going out for three scoops of ice cream and I'm going to eat it all. No sharing."

"But sharing is caring," Katie whined as Kenzi walked away.

"Then you two better start caring about my hangover," Kenzi muttered, pulling the landline off the hook. "Charlie's Whore House - you got the dough, we got the ho."

"_You know I'm calling from a police station…right?"_

When she heard the voice on the other line, she dropped the phone. It took her a few seconds to recover and picked the phone back up. "Please tell me I'm not still drunk. I went to a club last night and things were being passed around, not to mention I'm still a bit hung-over-"

"_Kenzi, sweetheart,"_ she heard him chuckle, "_it's really me."_

"Oh, thank God, Oliver," She sighed, closing her eyes in relief – she hasn't heard anything from him in five months.

"_So, this Charlie character; he someone I need to worry about?"_

Kenzi smiled genuinely at the phone. "Cover for sales calls."

"_Cleaver girl; knew I raised you right_."

"From where, overseas?" she laughed. "David's the one who taught me that although he'll deny it."

Oliver became quite. "_Is he there?"_

"No, he's left for the hospital a few hours ago. Won't be back until late tomorrow night." After a few seconds thought, Kenzi said accusingly, "Which brings me back to what I was going to ask – what police station in that God forsaken desert would have a New York area code?"

"_New York would have a New York area code."_

"You're where?!" She practically screamed. On the other side of the line, Oliver actually pulled the phone away from his ear.

"_I'm in New York, baby sister."_

"When? I thought you weren't going to be here until tomorrow!"

"_Bump in flight plans – don't ask me because you know I can't tell you_."

Kenzi rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Does this mean we get to see you early? The kids-"

"_You can't tell them anything. It's just like we talked about, I want to surprise them." _He sighed, "_And I don't know if I'll be home any earlier than I planned."_

"What do you mean?"

"_I mean I have to go talk to some people and I don't know how long that's going to take_."

"And you can't talk about that either, huh?"

"_Kenzi_-"

"No, I get, Mr. G-Man. You and all your little military secrets can sleep outside causing I'm changing the locks before you get home."

"_Oh, now come on, you know that's not fair_!" When she didn't answer, he gave way just a little. "_Okay, okay. I'm looking for this detective – name's Flack-"_

"Don Flack?" Kenzi asked with some surprise. "What about him?"

Now it was Oliver's turn to be silent for a little while. "_And how do _you_ know Detective Flack?"_

"Well, we've – uh – bumped into each other a few times," she said evasively, shifting from foot to foot. "New York's not really a big city if you think about it-"

"_Kenzi you promised me you wouldn't get into any more trouble while I was away_," Oliver hissed through the phone.

"It was a favor for a friend-"

"_You're a scam artist with kleptomanic tendencies! How many of your 'friends' could possibly be good news?"_

"Louis Grey count as a good friend."

"_Little Limp Louis_?" Oliver said, shocked by the blast from the past.

"Yeah, he needed help installing a ramp to his new apartment" she sighed. "You honestly don't think I've changed do you?"

"_No, Kenzi,"_ Oliver held his breath and counted to ten. "_I'm sorry, kido. I really am. I shouldn't have just jumped-"_

"Yeah, you shouldn't have." She tried to keep the hurt out of her voice. "Anyway, what do you want with Flack?"

"_I don't know much other than I'm supposed to find Detective Flack, introduce myself, and he takes me to this new job_."

"Is it that job Stella had at the crime lab?"

"_That would be the one_."

"And you said you couldn't tell me," Kenzi mocked, smiling at her triumph at finally getting some information out of him.

"_Old habits die hard, kid_."

"Speaking of dying hard, Brue Willis is coming out with another Die hard film. Wanna go see it?"

Oliver laughed. "_Yeah. We all will once I kept caught up on seven years' worth of block buster films I've missed out on. Alright, I've got to go, just wanted to check in on things. Kiss my kids for me_."

"Will do. Anybody else you want me to kiss?" Kenzi drew out suggestively. Even though Oliver couldn't see her, she still waggled her eye brows.

"_Love you, kiddo_."

"Lurv you too," She happily said before hanging up.

"Who do you love?" a sleepy voice drifted into the room. Kenzi turned and saw her eldest niece, Jane Cohen, leaning against the door frame. She was a beautiful sixteen year old girl with gorgeous blonde hair tied in a messy bun on top of her head, and large doe eyes the color of moss. She had the face of an angel – full, pink lips with a defined cupid's bow; small, straight nose; high, defined cheekbones; and arched eyebrows that always gave the appearance that she was always listening. And it was this angel face of hers that kept her out of the frequent trouble she was in; something she seemed to have picked up from Kenzi.

"I lurve you, blondie," Kenzi smiled, but Jane wasn't fooled.

"I thought there was a 'no secret' rule, Aunt Kenzi." She said as she bent down to roll up her pant legs. They were her father's sweat pants so they were too long and constantly needed to be rolled.

"I wasn't lying."

"Then who was on the phone?"

Kenzi just smiled and threw her arm around her neice's shoulder. Even though they were ten years apart, Oliver being eighteen when Jane was born, they were practically sisters. "You'll find out."

҉

**POLICE STATION**

**FLACK'S DESK**

"That your old lady?" Mike asked, looking up from the newspaper he was reading while he sat in Flack's chair.

"My baby sister," Oliver smiled as a patrol cop walked up to Mike.

"Detective Flack is at the award ceremony, sir."

"Alright," Mike groaned, folding his paper up. "Say again kid why you need Don?"

"I got a job offer from Detective Mac Taylor of the New York Crime Lab. A friend of mine, Stella Bonasera-"

"Nine ass on that one," Mike commented. Oliver paused to stare at him. "What? Continue."

"Stella heads up her own division in New Orleans now, so she passed my name along to Detective Taylor. That was four months ago. Shortly after that, I was pulled from combat to start training."

"What kind of training?" Mike chuckled. "You're a Marine, for Pete's sake!"

"Forensic science and Police Training."

Mike looked confused for a second. "Hold up…don't you have to be a cop first to work with the CSI geeks, you know, in the field and all?"

"Yeah," Oliver nodded his head. "I couldn't be pulled out of Iraq completely, National Security issues, so they flew in an instructor from the Police Academy. Ames, his name was-"

"John Ames." Mike nodded. "Cold as ice, that one."

"Tell me about it. Half a mind to throw him and a D.I in a cage to see who brakes first." Mike smiled at that. "Anyway, we trained day-in day-out for four solid months."

"So what're you doing here, then? You finish?"

Oliver nodded. "Passed all the exams, mental and physical. Shipped me off here as soon as it was over."

Mike still looked confused. "So you're a cop now, certified and everything."

"Detective actually." Oliver tilted his head, "Well, assistant supervisor if I'm replacing Stella."

Mike began to chuckle so hard it was drawing the other officer's attention. Oliver began to look around to see what was making him laugh. "Kid, you best be keeping that to yourself for a while."

"Why?"

Mike leaned in close. "See all these detectives? They're been on the force ten plus years, made their bones, so to speak, working the streets before getting their gold shield. Before that, they busted their asses off in the Academy. Some might think you pulled some high strings to get rushed through lightning fast. Some might say you don't deserve that gold shield. I'd be very careful if I was you."

Oliver looked more apprehensive. "And what do you think?"

Mike leaned back in Flack's chair, flipping the paper to the cross word. "I think you've seen more that most folks should, done things most folk won't."

Oliver put his hand down on the paper to cover up the puzzle. "Mike…"

"I think them CSI geeks are damn lucky to have you join them." Then said, jokingly, as he shoved Oliver's hand off his paper, "even if you are a cheat."

҉

**NEW YORK CRIME LAB**

The elevator dinged twice before the doors opened. Oliver took a small breath of courage before stepping out into the white tiled floors to be surrounded by thick glass walls showing off expensive lab equipment and computer monitors.

The lab was also empty off all life it seemed, other than Oliver and his sandy toting luggage.

"Hello," Oliver called out, dropping his bags by the edge of one glass wall. "Hello?"

He turned from the massive hallway, glancing around, and saw a bold bloody handprint on the glass of the walkway above the elevator. Thinking it was a joke, Oliver walked toward the hand print, saying, "Haha, very funny, pull a prank on the new guy." When no one responded by the time he got to the stairs, he called out again, "Personally, I would have gone with the fake dead body in autopsy-"

He stopped talking when he reached to top of the walkway and saw a young woman lying on the ground. "-or not in autopsy," he said to himself. He quickly knelt down by the young gurl, putting two fingers to her neck to check for a pulse. When he found she didn't have one, he leaned back on his toes to take a deep breath before searching for gloves down below.

` He didn't get the chance to.

When he stood up, the doors to the elevator opened up and people started to flow back into the place. A man in a black suit with dark brown hair got off the elevator and headed to an office, Oliver decided to speak out,

"Hey!" He called down and the man in the suit turned around. Once he saw Oliver standing over a dead woman on the walkway, his eyes understandably widened. "I'm Gunnery Sergeant Oliver Cohen, your new crime scene investigator, and this woman is dead."

҉

**FEW MINUTES LATER**

Detective Danny Messer and Doctor Sheldon Hawks soon joined Oliver on the walkway. As he was putting on purple latex gloves, Danny crouched over the body to take photos as Hawks looked around the small area with a flashlight.

Standing up, Danny said, "Look, this better not become a regular thing, man."

Puzzled, Oliver said, "What'do you mean?"

Danny gestured to the lab below. "We like to grab a cup of coffee, maybe read the newspaper before we jump right into work."

Playing along, Oliver retorted, "Thought I might bring a little lab warming gift, you know, B.Y.O.B." Danny and Hawks exchanged a look. "Bring your own body."

Danny chuckled and held out his fist. "Nice."

Oliver bumped his fist back as hawks said, crouching down to retrieve his kit, "If you're done with the comedy portion of the program, we're got some work to do." Sheldon stepped forward and held out his hand. "Doctor Hawks."

"Gunnery Sargent Cohen," Oliver replied as he shook his hand.

"Danny Messer," Danny said, shaking his hand next. "You don't have to give us your rank, a name'll do." Danny playfully tapped Oliver's chest with the back of his hand. "if you hadn't noticed, you're not in the war-zone anymore."

"No, I-I defiantly noticed," Oliver said, his time taking on a haunted tone.

Hawks discreetly slapped Danny on the back of the head. "Well, let me be the first of us to welcome you home."

"Yeah," Danny said, walking right behind Hawks as they went down the stairs, "welcome home, Hero!"

Oliver crouched down next to the woman as soon as they left, thinking he would have peace and quiet to think. Then, suddenly, an authoritative voice walked around the other corner of the walkway. It was the man in the suit talking on his cell phone.

"I want to know what other floors have been compromised," he was firmly telling the person on the other end of the line, "and how somebody got past security!" The man ended the call as Oliver stood up. He put his cell away in his coat pocket and extended his hand. "Welcome home soldier. Not quite what you were expecting?"

Oliver smiled and shook the man's hand. "No, sir, not even close."

"Mac Taylor. Crime Lab Supervisor."

"Gunnery Ser-" Oliver cut himself off. "Oliver Cohen. You're new assistant supervisor."

"Heard a lot of great things about you, Gunny." Mac said, calling Oliver by the second name he adopted in the military. "Stella chose well."

"Thank you, sir."

"Hey, what the hell are you doing?" Mac suddenly call down to the crows that seemed to have gathered. "In case you've missed it, we have a murder victim here in the lab. If you don't belong here, get where you need to be. If you have an assignment, get to it. Move!" He turned back to Oliver and said less harshly, "And don't call me 'sir'."

"Yes, sir." Oliver said, a smile breaking on Mac's face. He glanced down at the girl. "Any idea who she is?"

"No." Mac finally looked down at her fully, taking in her appearance. "Defiantly doesn't work in the lab."

"Honestly, my first thought was this was a prank – cleared the immediate area, planted a fake body or a lab tech to play dead, then waited for me to scream."

Mac silently chuckled. "We're more of a 'sabotage gloves' and a 'autopsy-zombie' kind of lab when it comes to practical jokes. But murder? Not our style."

"That's comforting," Oliver said as he crouched down to show Mac what he's found so far. "Dried blood pool spreading out from her neck; she was stabbed just above the clavicle." Moving her head slightly, Oliver said, "Degree of rigor suggests that the victim has been here at least eight hours."

"Lab was empty eight hours ago. Nobody would have found her except the two techs that've been on since midnight, but they have no reason to be down by these elevators."

Oliver nodded and lifted the girl's shirt slightly up so that he could point his flashlight at her neck. "two deep puncture wounds, evidence of bubbling…probably punctured the airway." Letting go of her shirt, he point out the bruise patterns on the other side of her neck. "She was chocked before she was stabbed. I know I'm knew to the investigating part, but no way would I choke someone with my hand before stabbing them." Continuing, he lifted up her eyelids and shown his flashlight in her eyes. "Petechial hemorrhaging in one eye…strange. Heavy makeup makes me think she's single, but playing the field." Flicking his flashlight, he drew Mac's attention to the woman's feet. "The soles of her shoes are completely worn down from walking a lot – maybe from her home or the subway on her way to work."

Impressed by his new investigator, Mac sarcastically said, "Would you like to comment on her perfume?"

Accepting the small challenge, Oliver slightly leaned in and sniffed. "Sweet, not floral. Defiantly given to her by a man." Seeing Mac's face, Oliver smiled. "How'd I do, boss?"

Mac slowly nodded his head. "Very impressive."

"Stella told me to make a good first impression or she'd fly back here just to kick my ass."

"I see the Corps is still teaching attention to detail," Mac commented.

Oliver's brows furrowed. "You served?"

"Retired as a Major before moving here."

Oliver held out his hand in respect. Mac shook his hand and they both stood up. That's when he remembered something. "I had to go through a pat-down and practically sign over my left nut to get through security to get to this lab." Mac smiled slightly at the crude humor most marines have. "My point is – if she doesn't work in the crime lab, how in the hell did she get onto this floor?"

"Trust me, that is a question I defiantly want answered."

Down below, Danny and his camera were in the elevator snapping photographs of anything that looked out of place. For example, the blood smear on the 'DOORS CLOSE' and '35' button. He took a swab from the cart next to him and collected a sample.

Outside the elevator, Hawks was looking at a blooding hand print on the corner of a glass wall. It seemed as if after she stumbled out of the elevator, that she grasped the edge for support.

Coming out of the elevator with his flashlight aimed on the floor, Danny said, "No cast off, no blood trail, no spatter inside the elevator."

"Clothing and hair were saturated in blood," Hawks said as he swabbed his bloody hand print, "nothing made it to the floor."

"There was blood on the 'close' button she it makes sense she was stabbed _before_ she got onto the elevator."

"No handbag, no jacket, no phone," Oliver said as he and Mac got off the stairs. "She's not a visitor, she works in this building."

"Okay, so with that kind of injury, she couldn't have traveled far."

"The victim only stabbed the button for this floor." He looked up to see that Danny got the pun. "She had to have known that this was the crime lab."

"She got off on our floor looking for help." Hawks nodded.

"She would have to have the access code for this elevator to even stop on this floor." Mac told them.

"Not last night," a new man said, walking into the group discussion. "Security system went down for a few hours. We're still looking into the cause."

"Quite the coincidence, Don."

Hearing the name, Oliver stepped out of the elevator. "Detective Don Flack?"

Don looked confused, glancing at Mac before Oliver. "Yeah, that's me."

Oliver held out his hand. "Oliver Cohen."

The look of recognition passed over Don's face. "Stella's Gunny!" He shook the man's hand. "Sorry, wasn't expecting you till tomorrow."

"Understandable." Oliver nodded, turning friendly he said, "Guess you guys don't murder people in the lab often."

Smiling, Don said, "Naw, this is new for them."

Getting back to the case, Danny said, "So why go through the trouble of breaching a high security building when you could just lie in wait and attack someone in the street?"

"I don't know," Mac said, "but we're going to check every floor, every corner, of this high rise until we find out." Mac turned to Oliver, pointing his finger, "In the meantime, get a hot shower and a change of clothes-"

"I'm good to go-"

"No arguments. Report to Adam once you're done; he'll be needing elimination prints." Oliver opened his mouth and mac raised his eyebrow.

"Not arguing," Oliver raised his hands in surrender, "but there's just one problem with that."

"What?"

"I've been carrying around nothing but desert camo for seven years." Oliver held up his gear for emphasis as sand poured off. "Don't have any clothes to change into."

҉

**LOCKER ROOMS**

Thirst minutes later, Oliver stepped out of the shower with a towel around his waist. Personally, he though it looked more like a wash cloth from the way it barely covered him. He padded across the small titled floor toward the sink where Don had left some shaving cream and a razor. When he cleared the fog off the mirror with his hand, Oliver hardly recognized the man that looked back at him as he shaved his face.

The face was the same as his – square jaw, smooth forehead, high cheek bones, and protonate cupid's bow over thick lips. Bright green eyes surrounded by dark lashes. Hair cut in a military high-and-tight with two inches of chocolate brown hair on top. Oliver knew this was his reflection, but somehow it was also a stranger.

He didn't notice when Don came in with a spare suit from Mac. He was going to just come in, tell Oliver that the suit was on the bench and then leave again, but something he saw caught his eye – the scaring all over Oliver Cohen's body.

Circular bullet wounds and shrapnel scars looked maybe a year or two old, yet those weren't the scars that caught the detective's attention. It was the methodical wounds that suggested torture – gashes over muscles and vital organs and veins in addition to a few burns.

Don looked away and left, shaking his head at the thought of what had happened to this man.

Oliver didn't notice him leave. The only thing he did notice was a neat stack of clothing on the bench waiting for him once he finished shaving – a long sleeve dress shirt, raspberry red in color, with a point collar and button cuffs; black trousers; black belt; black dress shoes and socks. He used water and a comb to give himself a quick and easy dapper look to his hair.

҉

**OUTSIDE ADAM'S LAB**

Mac caught up to Oliver outside Adam's lab as he was wiping the black ink off his fingers.

"You clean-up nice," Mac commented, gesturing towards his suit. "Have to say, you look better in it than I do. Come on, you're with me. We've got the 34th floor to search. Westwick & Associates Architectural Firm."

"Always wanted to know how they designed buildings." Oliver commented as they both walked towards the second, and now only, elevator. They didn't get too far when Adam stuck his head out of the lab door.

"Hey, Cohen, we still on for Thursday night?"

"Absolutely," Oliver and Mac stepped into the elevator and before the doors closed, Oliver added, "You're buying the chips."

"You're fast," Mac said, the elevator stopping on the floor below them – 34th. "Adam doesn't usually like new people."

"Well, what can I say," Oliver shrugged, "I've got one of those faces."

They both stepped off the elevator and a uniformed cop guarding the elevator greeted them. "Detective Taylor, we think we found the victim's office."

Mac gestured for the guard to lead. "Show us."

The first thing Mac did when entering was bee-line it to the desk. He set his case on the floor and began to rifle through the piles of paper on top. Oliver began work on the floor around the desk, looking for anything that might have fallen to suggest a struggle. He didn't find anything like that, however, he did find a handkerchief in the trashcan.

"Her name was Sarah Nelson," Mac said, holding up her paycheck for this month. "Ten dollar an hour junior associate with a sixty hour work week."

Oliver gave a low whistle as he unfolded the handkerchief. It looked as if Sarah had kissed it, because the color on it matched the one she was wearing. "This was left after the cleaning crew made their rounds. It was the only thing in the bin." He opened an evidence bag and placed the handkerchief inside. "Freshening up her makeup after hours means she was getting ready to go out or waiting for a workplace hook-up."

"She couldn't have had much of a social life working all these hours," Mac commented as he picked up her phone. He pressed the center button and a four digit passcode popped up.

"Found something," Danny said, sticking his face through the doors. Oliver and Mac followed him out to the main entry where Danny had been dusting the window. "Looks like our Vic face-planted the window. I don't think she was stabbed here, though. There's not a drop of blood."

Oliver patted the couch in front of him. "Could have started friendly?"

"There's nothing friendly about this," hawks said, standing up with a square cut out of the rug. With his flashlight shining on it, they were able to see three dots. "Gravitational blood drops. No directionality. Probably from the blade of a knife." Hawks backed his body up so his back on touching the display case. "My guess? She was slammed into the display case and was stabbed right here."

The glass doors opened up and Don walked into their chat. "So the security systems were tampered with at an outside junction box. And whoever did it, they cleaned up after themselves. The system went down at twelve oh-four a.m. The midnight security guard ain't exactly Sherlock Holmes, so it took him an hour to realize there was a problem. System was back online at one twenty-four a.m."

"M.E puts the time of death around midnight-one a.m." Oliver nodded. Zoning out, Mac walked towards the window to get a better look at the facial smear. Sensing something was off, Oliver asked, "You okay, Mac?"

"Sarah Nelson was murdered while I was still here."

҉

**LAB**

While Mac was talking to the M.E, Oliver and Hawks were examining Sarah's clothing. He was holding up a magnified glass up to blouse and said, "Medium-velocity spatter."

"Directionality points away from the stab wound." After a thought, Oliver concluded, "That means this blood is more than likely from her attacker."

Hawks put down the evidence. "She fought back."

It was silent for a minute or two as they both looked over the evidence on the table. That's when Oliver noticed the shoes. "Jimmy Choo."

"Bless you?" Hawks asked and Oliver smiled.

"The shoes. Not bad for a junior associate's salary."

Hawks nodded, seeing where this was going. "Kate Spade purse, designer blouse, Dolce & Gabbana pants – there's a month's pay just sitting on this table." While Hawks continued, Oliver picked up the white camisole. "Maybe she was someone who had to be clothes rich to get ahead."

"I'm told that there're plenty of stores around here that have great knockoffs for a quarter of the price. No one's checking tags." Oliver put the blouse down and turned to Hawks. "Someone is taking care of her."

"What makes you say that?"

"There are no guys in any of the pictures on her desk," Oliver pointed out, reaching for a copy. "She was expecting a visitor that she really wanted to look good for. An older, more established man-"

"Or a young hotshot with lots of cash." Hawks counteracted.

Oliver smiled a hint. "No, no, a discreet, late-night rendezvous with a man in the office who lavishes her with gifts," Oliver trailed off and to Hawks it made him think that he was reciting from experience. "If we were betting, I'd put my money on an older, more established…wealthy, married man." Oliver jabbed the table. "That's our guy."

"Speaking from experience?" Hawks asked playfully.

"I wasn't always engaged, you know," He teased, holding up his hands.

"You're engaged?" Hawks hadn't noticed before. "Congratulations man. How long?"

"Dating period or engagement?"

Hawks laughed. "Either one. Both?"

"Met back in 2001, popped the question in 2004 when I shipped out for my final tour in Afghanistan."

"Damn," Hawks whistled. "You are one lucky guy for having a patient girl like that."

Hawks was too busy looking down at the evidence to notice the slight frown Oliver now wore.

҉

**ADAM'S LAB**

Staring at data streams of coding on his computer, Adam updated Danny. "Not only will it figure out the pass code to Sarah's phone, but once I'm in, it'll give me all her deleted e-mails, texts and internal application data."

"So, uh, deleted is never really deleted, huh?" Danny asked, walking around the back of Adam's chair with his hands in his pockets.

"I keep telling you guys that, but nobody believes me." Adam said as Danny was walking out. He noticed and quickly called out, "Speaking of deleted, what, uh, what do you think of Stella's replacement? Oliver."

"I think Oliver's pretty damn smart, you know, to take up Stella's job as new as he is. He's a war hero, a soldier, and I have great respect for him." He shrugged. "He's cool, I like him a lot."

"Think we'll get to meet his wife?"

Danny looked puzzled. "Wife?"

"Yeah, uh, he's got a ring on his left hand – silver. That means he's married, right?"

"Why you asking me, why not ask him?"

"I don't know, because you're married and I barely know the guy."

"But you're gonna watch hockey together this weekend?"

Adam was about to say something on that when his computer beeped. "Okay, here we go." Typing, he said, now here comes the hard part - sorting through all this crap as fast as we can."

As files and files of information popped up on the screen, Danny watched and said, "What's this 'we' I keep hearing."

"Whoa, hey. Pull up a chair, man. Grab a keyboard, help a brother out."

Danny sighed and heavily sat down in the swivel chair beside Adam.

҉

**OLIVER & LINDSEY'S OFFICE**

Walking by his office from the lab, Oliver saw a new face in there. Since Mac didn't need him right away, he walked in and introduced himself.

"Lindsey?" He asked, holding out his hand. "Oliver Cohen."

"Hi!" Lindsey smiled, reaching over her desk to shake his hand.

"Nice to meet you."

"I've heard a lot of great things about you.'

"Likewise," he said, pulling out his chair and sat down to quickly check his e-mails.

"Quite an entrance you made today." Lindsey said casually as she rifled through the box that was on her desk.

"Probably not as big as yours. Congratulations on the medal. I hear it's quite an honor."

"Oh, thanks," she smiled sadly. She looked away and at the smaller, golden box in her hand. She opened it and found it was a quote – "Bravery is being the only one who knows you're afraid" –in a small glass photo frame. Lindsey just stared at it and sighed.

"You okay?" Oliver asked, genuinely concerned.

"Yeah, Sorry, I…" she put the frame down and quickly walked out of the room.

"Not strange at all," Oliver muttered to himself as he watched her leave. Mac tried to talk to her but she blasted past him. He looked to Oliver, who shrugged, before walking after her and to the roof.

Later, when Oliver was walking around looking for a water fountain to fill up his bottle, Adam walked out of his lab and said, "Hey Oliver."

"Hey-"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure, go ahead," he said, curious of what he had to say.

"So I noticed you ring earlier and since it's your first day here, first case, we don't really know you that well, and, uh, I was just wondering if you, well, if you were-"

"Married?"

Adam chuckled nervously. "Yeah. See we just want to get to know you better and, uh-"

Oliver smiled. "You don't have to be nervous, Adam, all you had to do was ask."

"I thought that's what I just did," he said, confused.

"Right." He looked down at his ring. "No, I'm not married. More like engaged – proposed before I shipped off seven years ago."

"That's a pretty long engagement. Now that your back, you think you'll get hitched soon?"

"Honestly don't know," Oliver put his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "I'm leaving all that up to my fiancé and my kids."

"Whoa, wait, hold up," Adam said, stopping in the middle of the hallway intersection, holding out the arm that wasn't carrying his tablet. "You have kids?"

"You do?" Mac said as he walked up, catching the tail end of the conversation.

Oliver pulled out a fading brown leather wallet. He opened it up and pulled out a photo – in the center was a blonde teenager, hugging either side of her was a little boy and girl. The girls had blonde hair and the boy had brown hair like Oliver.

"That's Jane, my oldest," he said, pointing her out.

"How old is she?" Mac asked, gently taking the photo. He smiled down at their happy faces.

"Turned sixteen a few months ago." Oliver shook his head and continued. "Katherine is six and Thomas is five."

"Most people these days don't tend to marry the other parent of their children." Mac said.

"I'm not, actually," Oliver said quietly. "Thomas and Katie's mom wants nothing to do with them once she married some playboy an move to L.A."

"God, man, that blows," Adam said, patting Oliver's back sympathetically. "And Jane's mom?"

Oliver shifted his stance uncomfortably. "You, uh, you had something to show up?"

"Yeah," Adam said, now even more curious. "Check this out – Enemy-X. It's an app that tracks locations of the people you want to avoid at the places you want to hang." Mac touched the screen and a Google map of Brooklyn showed up with several red skull and crossbones. "It sends a GPS signal from their phone to yours-"

"And tells you their location," Mac finished.

"Exactly."

"Looks like she had a lot of enemies," Oliver said, nodding to the tablet.

"She did. But according to the call log in Sarah's phone, and a couple dozen deleted text messages and voice mail, there was one guy begging to see her. Then two days ago, it just stopped." Adam tapped the screen and a rap sheet popped up. "Our first suspect is Rudy Aronika. And out vic was defiantly trying to avoid him."

"Where can we find him?" Mac asked.

"Oh, uh – Oh!" Adam tapped a specific red skull and it zoomed into the location and showed a picture of who was there – Rudy Aronika. "Right here."

"I'll give Flack the heads up," Mac said, pulling out his phone, then turning to Oliver. "Parking garage, fifteen minutes."

҉

**POLICE STATION**

**INTERROGATION ROOM**

"I loved Sarah," Rudy was telling Oliver for the umpteenth time. "I didn't have any reason to kill her."

Behind the glass, Mac and Don watched patently.

"You giving him a test or something?" Don asked.

"I want to see how he handles himself in there." Mac replied.

On the other side, Oliver, with coffee in one hand and a box of tissues in the other, sat down opposite of Rudy at the cold, steel table. "But, Rudy, isn't that the perfect reason? It's really the people we truly love that can hurt us enough to bring out that kind of rage."

"He's pretty good." Don said. Mac silently looked over at him to see that he was smiling. "Box of tissues on the table is a nice touch."

"I bet him a steak dinner it wouldn't work."

"Tell me what happened." They heard Oliver say. "What did she do that made you so angry that you wanted to kill her?"

"I didn't kill her." He earnestly said. "Look, I admit we'd been fighting a lot lately."

"What were you fighting about?" Oliver asked before sipping his coffee. He sighed in satisfaction. "Was she threatening to expose the affair?"

Rudy shook his head. "No. Sarah would never do that. Sarah was dating me _because_ I was married."

Oliver kind of choked on his coffee when he heard that last part. "Excuse me?"

"She didn't want the commitment. I was safe. For a while that was – that was okay with me. And then-" he began to choke up, his eyes turning red. "I just – I realized what a wonderful person she is – was." He took a tissue and fiddled with it in his hands before drying his eyes.

Oliver pointedly looked up at the mirror, a ghost of a knowing smile on his face.

"So what you think?" Don asked.

Mac sighed. "I think the only thing he's guilty of is a lack of integrity."

"Then you fell in love with her, didn't you?" Oliver asked gently, making Rudy think he was feeling his pain. Ruddy nodded. "When she sensed you wanted to leave you wife for her, she stared pulling back, didn't she?"

"Yes. It was pretty much over. A couple of nights ago, she asked me to come over. I was just hoping, maybe she's had a change of heart."

Olive nodded. "But instead, she told you that she was pregnant?"

"I was devastated," he sobbed.

"Devastated or angry, Rudy?" Oliver tried to put the pressure on him. "Angry that she was rejecting you? Angry at what could have been?"

"No, I was devastated." He paused for a moment. "I had a vasectomy two years ago, Detective. Sarah was carrying somebody else's baby."

Olive looked up at the mirror, Don looked at Mac and Mac's cell rings. After digging it out of his coat pocket, he answers, "Taylor." Shortly after, his eyes dart to Don's. "When?" a few more tense seconds pass. "I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone and Don asked, "What's up?"

"Foreign blood from Sarah Nelson's blouse got a hit to blood trace from a mugging that happened last night."

"We have another victim. Still alive?"

"Yeah," Mac rapped on the glass to signal for Oliver to leave.

҉

**OFFICE SPACE OF TEDDY WESTWICK**

While they were waiting, Don tapped on the glass of a brown and black tarantula's cage. "How many offices does this guy have? They have got to cost a pretty penny."

"And then some," Teddy Westwick added as he came in. He was white, mid-thirties, with styled blonde hair and an expensive suit. The sleeves of his shirt were rolled up and they could see where the paramedics had patched up his right forearm.

"You have two offices in the city?" Oliver asked from where he reclined on one of the many chairs.

"Three." He opened the spider's cage and poured in some food. "This one is just for me."

"So basically, you're filthy rich?" Don asked.

Westwick glanced between the three of them before walking over towards his desk. "Yes, but it's not the buildings I design or the offices I own that make me rich, Detective. It's my wife and daughter."

"Mr. Westwick," Mac asked politely, "do you have any idea why you were attacked last night?"

"It could have been any number of things."

"Money, jealousy and revenge are the big three." Don said and Oliver held up three fingers to make the point.

"I think it was a good, old-fashioned New York mugging, Detective." Mr. Westwick walked around to the other side of this desk and sat down as he said, "Some thug was probably feeling lucky, I suppose. I just left the Avenue Grill. Probably reeked of one too many and he thought he had a chance. He, uh, he didn't even say anything. He just started slashing." Mr. Westwick held up his bandaged arm. "He cut my arm, we struggled, I took the scissors away from him and stabbed him. He took off." He shook his head. "The details are in the report the officers took last night."

"You didn't know this guy?" Mac asked as he stepped towards the desk.

"No."

"Can you tell us what he looks like?" Don asked.

"No, I really didn't get a good look at him."

"You said 'he didn't even say anything'," Oliver said, standing up. "He didn't demand any money or property?"

"No." Mr. Westwick looked between the three detectives. "And why all the questions?"

"Don't you find his choice of weapon a little…strange?" Don asked.

"Personally, I would bring some kind of knife to a robbery, maybe a broken beer bottle." Oliver shrugged.

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Let me rephrase," Oliver said, clearing his throat. "A guy who was sophisticated enough to disable a state-of-the-art alarm system would come after you with a pair of scissors?"

"Yes, I admit, it's a bit odd." Mr. Westwick nodded.

"It's more than odd." Mac said. "It doesn't make sense."

"Were you in that office last night, Mr. Westwick?" Don asked.

"No, I was not."

The detectives look at each other – Oliver shrugs, Don walks away, and Mac says, "Well, it's hard to believe the murder of an employee at your architectural firm, less than ten blocks away, an hour before you were attacked, is merely coincidence."

Mr. Westwick sighed. "Detective, I have no reason to ignore that obvious possibility, but I really don't know what to think."

"Blood found on Sarah Nelson's body was a match to blood found at the scene of your mugging." Oliver said. "The attacker first came into your office then found you on the street."

"It appears this guy was hunting you." Mac said.

"And it sounds like he was after more than a Rolex and some cash." Don said, walking back over.

"Something he was willing to kill for." Oliver said, joining them in front of the desk.

"Help us out." Don said simply. "What could he have been after?"

"Look, I'm sorry that young woman-"

"Sarah." Oliver said.

"Excuse me?"

"Her name was Sarah."

"I'm sorry that _Ms. Nelson_ is dead. I'm told she was a devoted employee, a terrific person. Believe me, if I thought anyone I knew was responsible for her death, I certainly wouldn't protect them." Mr. Westwick sighed. "Detectives, I was walking home, and a strange man attacked me. That's what I know. That's _all_ I know."

҉

**CRIME LAB**

Back at the lab, Lindsey was testing the blood on the scissors found at the robbery crime scene, fuming it for prints and then photographing them. As she was running the prints through the databases, a technician came in and handed her the DNA results.

҉

**HALLWAY**

Adam stood facing the windows, watching the city move around like ants when he heard Lindsey's voice.

"Adam."

"Oh, hey, Lindsey." He turned away from the windows and pointed at the file in her hand. "What's up?"

"When is a match to a fingerprint not a direct match to a fingerprint?"

"Uh…uh – uh, when the DNA of the fingerprint is a match in CODIS-" he said, still thinking, "but that rarely happens."

"It just did." She smiled.

"What?"

Lindsey handed him the DNA results. "I found a mystery print on the scissors. I ran it through AFIS, I got nothing. The I swabbed DNA from the print. Get this-" she point to just below the heading on the paper. "12 hits in CODIS."

"Twelve?"

"Yeah, it turns out our killer is a burglar, and a high-end one at that. He never takes anything less than 50 grand. He's never been caught, never been I.D.'d."

"Yeah, but burglars don't kill."

"Unless they have to."

"So we got the guy, right?" Adam asked with a smile as he and Lindsey walked back to the lab.

"Well, no, because the hits in CODIS were to an unknown profile."

"Yeah, but we've got the prints still?"

"Yeah, but it got me nothing in AFIS."

"Then we just run it through every database in the entire world." Adam said, frustrated.

҉

**BOARD ROOM**

Oliver was standing in front of a wide touch-screen TV going over the crime scene photos when the pre-paid cell phone in his back pocket began to ring. He got it only a few hours ago after questioning Westwick and gave his number to the team members and his sister. So when he saw the caller-I.D. he panicked.

"What happened?"

"_Chillax, bro,"_ Kenzi greeted him. "_Everything's hunky-dory."_

"Dammit, Kenzi, you almost gave me a heart attack," he scolded. "I told you to call me in case of an emergency _only_."

"_But this is an emergency_!"

He sighed. "What's up?"

"_I'm throwing you a coming home party_-"

"No." Oliver said immediately.

"_Oh, come on, Ollie_!" She whined. "_You've been gone seven years! That is way too long not to have a party_."

"I said no." Oliver said more firmly, noticing mac standing in the doorway.

"_Why not_?"

"Because I said so."

"_That is so not an answer – that's an evil parent excuse for being lazy enough not to have an answer!_"

"Well, I am a parent-"

"_Okay, okay, a small party then_."

"No. How many times do I have to tell you? Do you want to hear it in another language?"

"_Why are you so opposed to a party_!" She sighed frustrated.

"Because I said so."

"_Ugh! You are no fun anymore. You know what you are – a buzz killing, grade-a asshole put on this planet to stomp on all the party planning hopes of Kenzi. I hope you enjoy the eternity of hell that's coming._"

Oliver chuckled. "Love you, too."

"Was that your daughter?" Mac asked with a smile once Oliver hung up.

"Jane doesn't know I'm state-side," Oliver said, walking to the pile of files on the conference table. "No, that would be my baby-sister Kenzi."

"What'd she want?"

"Since she's the only one besides the team who knows I'm here, she wants to throw a party. Seeing a bunch of people looking for a good war-story is not what I need after seven years."

Mac was about to say something when Danny and Hawks came in.

"Canvas of the area around the Avenue Grill got us what we thought it would get – which was nothing." Danny said, walking around the table to stand next to Oliver. "We're tagging the security surveillance in the neighborhood, but it's going to take a while."

Hawks came in and put down some files on the table. Mac picked one up and said, "What about Westwick? Was he seen with anyone? Anyone follow him out?"

"No. Bartender can't say that he was there, but he can't say that he wasn't, either. Same thing with the waitress on shift. Busy place."

"Check this out," Hawks said, moving to the touch-screen TV. He pulled up a 3D body. "Sid confirmed that the scissors recovered from the scene of Westwick's mugging," he touched the screen and it zoomed in on the back of the neck where scissors were sticking out, "are consistent with the scissors that killed Sarah Nelson. Sam length, width of blade, as well as puncture marks. Perfect match. Lindsey's processing them."

"This is what I don't get." Oliver said. "Who brings scissors to murder someone? A knife, a gun, even poison would make more sense."

"So you're suggesting it wasn't premeditated?"

"Scissors is an item that you would grab in the heat of the moment. I know I've had to use rocks, hell, one time a goat, to fight someone off without my gun or knife. Scissors would be lying there on the desk."

"But the compromised surveillance and the alarm system would indicate that this was defiantly planned." Danny said, crossing his arms. "And the disabling of the pass codes of the elevator just prior to the murder? Can't do something like that on the fly."

"So maybe murder wasn't part of the plan."

"The why'd our killer like in wait outside that bar? Chase Westwick down the street?" Hawks asked as Lindsey came in.

"We can ask him." Lindsey said cheerfully.

"You got a name?" Mac asked.

"And a location." She handed him the blue file in her hands. "Courtesy of the New York Liquor License database. Print was a match on the scissors – Alex Brodevesky."

҉

**POLICE STATION**

An hour or so later, Danny and Don brought in Mr. Brodevesky and were interrogating him as Oliver and Mac watched from behind the mirror.

"I have to admit, this is pretty special for us." Danny was saying as he walked around the steel table. "You're quite the infamous man. You don't lift anything less than 50 grand. I imagine you wouldn't break into a building with a crime lab in it, unless it was for something with that price tag, so what'd you steal?"

Mr. Brodevesky said nothing.

"Look, aside from your recent venture into murder," Don said and Mr. Brodevesky's head shot up, "we've been looking for you for a really long time. So let me give you a friendly piece of advice, and this is not something I usually do – you can continue with your story, but it's only going to come back to bite your ass when you need to make a deal."

"He's not kidding," Danny shook his head.

"I've made a living in some unconventional, possibly illegal ways," Mr. Brodevesky said with a slight trace of Russian in his voice, "but I didn't kill that girl."

"But you admit to attacking Theodore Westwick."

"I'm telling you, he attacked me!"

"Bullshit." Danny said. "Why would he do that?"

"Because I saw him kill her." Don and Danny exchange looks. "Look, I broke into the place. I saw him. We struggled. I ran, he followed." He pulled the collar of his shirt to expose his shoulder. "He stabbed me in the back!"

"Stabbed you in the back?" Danny asked, walking behind him.

"Yeah." Danny pulled the shirt down and saw that he was indeed telling the truth – a white square surrounded by tape covered the still bleeding wound. "He chased me right out of the building. The struggle on the street – i-I took the scissors from him to defend myself. I cut him and then I got the hell out of there."

"You never thought to go to the police?" Don asked.

"I'm a thief," Mr. Brodevesky sighed. "My word against his? Plus a money guy like Westwick – he can make a guy like me disappear without a trace."

Oliver hit the mute button and said. "His story explains a lot. The plan to burglarize the office? Premeditated. That's why the security system was down. Succors as the weapon of choice, grabbed in a moment of rage." His phone began to ring, again. He quickly silenced it and continued. "This murder was a crime of passion. Two separate crimes."

"So, Alex was attempting burglary at the same time Westwick was killing Sarah."

His phone began to ring and, again, he silenced it. "Do you believe him?"

"I will when we find the proof." As he opened the door and led Oliver out, he said, "And will you please answer your phone?"

҉

**LAB**

Oliver, Adam and Hawks were in a ballistic and experimentation lab where several mannequins were dressed like Alex Brodevesky and Theodore Westwick.

"This is the shirt Theodore Westwick wore the night of the mugging." Oliver said , pointing to the shirt on his right. "I want to find out who the attacker is and who's the victim using blood spatter pattern."

"It's almost impossible." Hawks said.

"Challenge accepted." Oliver smiled. "Look, as forensic investigators you're not supposed to consider innocence or guilt that you draw upon scientific, unbiased conclusion. In this case, I'm going to assume that Alex Brodevesky is innocent, and see if the science proves my theory."

'Y-you can't do that."

"Why?" Oliver asked simply, giving him 'the stare' as his former war brothers put it.

"Uh, well, be-be-because."

"That's it? Because? You sound like my daughter." Oliver chuckled. "We're not breaking any rules. I'm trying to create new ones."

He reached over to the rolling tray, picked up a pair of safety glasses and tossed it to Hawks. He put them on got to work on Brodevesky's story while Adam looked over the pictures. Oliver stepped back at slashed at the shirt the way Westwick described. He took photographs of the slice and blood spatter on the floor. Hawks stabbed a pair of scissors into the mannequin's shoulder, pulled them out and examined them and the shirt before taking photographs.

"No blood drops." Adam muttered after seeing a photograph of the office's floor. He then looked at another photograph of a blood stain on the wall. He picked it up and turned to Oliver.

"The blood on the wall at the mugging scene indicates Alex was pushed against it during the struggle. But if Westwick was slashed first, he would've been bleeding heavily, and there are no gravitational blood drops anywhere on the ground near the wall."

"We've got arterial spray from Westwick's wound on the newsstand," Hawks said as he joined the group, pointing to a picture, "Several yards from where he claims he was attacked." He moves to the dummy. "Now if Westwick's forearm was cut first, we'd have gravitational blood drops like this all over the crime scene," he pointed to the floor near Oliver's feet. "But there is none, which means Alex was stabbed in the back first, before Westwick's arm was slashed."

"So Alex fought him off," Adam said, "grabbed the scissors to defend himself, slashed Westwick and then took off-"

"A thief that speaks truth!" Oliver said as he held up his arms.

"-that means Westwick killed Sarah."

"No, we don't have absolute proof of that, though." Hawks said, shaking his finger. "Just Alex's accusation."

"Wait a second…" Oliver said, staring at Westwick's shirt.

"What's up?"

"Mac told me, 'know every answer, leave no questions'. I can't explain the castoff on the cuff of this shirt." Hawks and Adam walked closer. "These spots are castoff from the scissors, but in order to get inside the cuff, it had to have been from a downward stabbing motion."

"And it wasn't from Westwick stabbing Alex in the back." Hawks said after looking at the cuff. He moved back to his mannequin to retrieve the scissors from its back. "Alex's shirt would have absorbed most of the blood when the scissors were extracted. There wouldn't have been enough blood on the blades to create this pattern."

Adam walked forward with his hand cupped above his head, like he had just stabbed someone. "And the only way that pattern is possible is id Westwick stabbed Sarah."

"Guys, new development," Lindsey said as she walked into the lab. "Sid found the origin of the thorns in Sarah's eyes. Tarantula hairs."

"Yeah, yeah," Oliver said, remembering something. "A buddy of mine picked one of them up to pull a prank on a female supply driver, only the spider had other ideas. It spewed something into his eyes – little hairs – as a defense mechanism."

"That puts Sarah in Westwick's office." Adam said.

"_Private_ office in the Chrysler Building." Oliver smiled. "And Westwick implied that he didn't even know her."

Hawks held up the scissors. "We got him."

҉

**CRIME LAB**

**THAT EVENING**

With Westwick dead, shot on the roof by Mac and Don, they returned to the crime lab to find Oliver waiting in Mac's office.

Before Mac went in, Don asked, "What'd you think? Not bad for a first day."

Mac nodded. "Kid's got talent. He'll do good here."

"Hopefully, he'll realize he's a better cop than science geek." Don joked as he walked away.

Oliver stood up from the couch as Mac entered, moving straight to his desk. "So, are all your cases like this?"

"Pretty much," Mac said as he took a seat. "Thinking of quitting already?"

"Hell no, sir," Oliver smiled. "I do have to admit, it was one heck of a first day."

"How are you adjusting to civilian life?"

"It's not even been a day, but I feel like I might wake up any moment back in the tents with sand in my shorts."

Mac chuckled. "Welcome to the New York crime Lab, Gunny."

Oliver sighed, starring out the window past Mac. "It's still a beautiful city."

"Yes she is." Oliver's phone rang and mac smiled. "Answer you sister."

Oliver shook his head. "Kenzi, you can't keep calling me like this when I'm at work."

"Well, you wouldn't answer. Anyway, when are you coming home?"

Oliver checked his watch. "Shift doesn't end for a few more hours-"

"Go home," Mac spoke up.

Oliver put his phone to his chest. "You sure?"

Mac nodded. "Be with your family."

Oliver smiled and put the phone back to his ear. "I'll be there in about an hour."

"Yay!" Kenzi screamed on the other end. Oliver could just imagine her doing her happy dance – mainly consisting of a series of hip thrusts and bunny hops. "Awesome. Dinner is going to be HUGE, like, the Empire State Building has nothing on it. Oh, and I got your favorite cake with all the decorations on it and-"

"If you keep talking it'll be another hour before I can even leave the building."

Oliver could practically hear her eyes roll. "Then what are you doing, kid! Stop talking and-"

He did as she asked and hung up on her, sliding his phone into his pocket with a smile. Mac raised an eyebrow. "I hung up on her." He walked to the door, bag slung over his shoulder, and called, "See you tomorrow morning, Mac."

"Hey, Oliver," Mac called out before the doors closed. He stuck his head back inside to see a wide smile spread over Mac's face. "I don't want to see you in here too early, you understand me?"

"Loud and clear."

҉

**THE KING-COHEN LOFT**

The ride up the wrought iron, old-timey elevator brought back memories of the last time he was there. Jane tried to carry his bags, but they were way too big for her so she kept tripping over them. Kenzi's powder white face and black painted eyes were being washed away by a steady stream of tears. And his fiancé…

The shrill sound of the elevator coming to a halt sprung him back into the present.

"Floor Six," a mechanical voice said from a speaker beside the buttons.

Floor six only held one loft apartment where it should have held three – his fiancé being the successfully doctor bought up all the room and door down the walls to make it one huge loft. The last time Oliver was in it, they were picking out color schemes for Katherine's room. A brisk walk, maybe ten feet from the elevator, down a small hallway was a single red door with a white frame.

Oliver sighed deeply, closing his eyes. '_Home_', he thought, '_I was finally home'_.

His hand, shaking uncontrollably, reached out for the door handle, but thankfully someone else pulled it open for him. He was immediately crushed with a hug and the joyous crying of, "Ollie!" When she pulled back, he say it was his not-so baby sister. She wore a black high-low dress that had tank straps, scoop neck and a sheer lace-up midsection with brass eyelets with bright red leather ankle boots with a high enough heel that put her on eye level with Oliver. Getting a better look at her face, he saw that she did away with the white power and went for a more sultry look – smoky black eye shadow that brought out her eye color; red lip stick accented by the shoes; and her shimmering black hair was curled in waterfall ringlets.

Just looking at her, holding her, made me want to cry. I just pulled her closer and held tighter.

"C-can't br-breath-" she choked out, patting my arms.

"Sorry," I muttered letting go. I quickly swiped my eyes before she could see. "Where's everybody?"

"Dining room," she held her index finger to her mouth and took his hand. He quietly deposited his bags by the door and followed her. Corner after corner Kenzi led him through the halls, checking around each one to make sure nobody could see them. No one did besides the dogs – Jack, the Cavalier King Charles Spaniel with the most caramel coat, and Bear, an Irish Wolfhound with a heart as big as his body.

Jack was the first to come running, since he's smaller and more agile. As soon as he saw Oliver, he started barking and circling him; he fell down a few times because his tail was wagging so hard. Bear came in a few moments later, running at the sound of Jack's bark. He stopped dead in the center of the hallway just to stare at Oliver before galloping full speed to tackle him down to the ground where, bother he and Jack could properly welcome him home. Oliver tried to laugh but every time he did, one of the dogs would try and stick his mouth in.

"Kenzi, what in the world is going on over there?" An elderly woman's voice asked, drifting towards the two. "And who was at the door-" The woman didn't get to finish her sentence when she stepped out into the hallway to see Oliver on the ground surrounded by his dogs. Thelma-May Lewis was sixty-seven years old and had seen a lot of things over the years with her brown eyes, every wrinkle told a story. And over those years and after seeing so much, she had quite a lot to say. But at this moment, she was utterly speechless as she reached out for Kenzi with one hand while the other flew to her mouth to stifle a pending scream. Oliver smiled and pushed his friends off of him. He stood up, shook the dog hair off of him and said,

"I'm home, mama."

"Oh, my dear boy," was all she could say before she started to weep. Oliver scooped her into his arms and held her as she clutched onto him, saying his name over and over. She was five-three and extremely short to his six-one stature, so he rested his head on hers and rubber her back. She wouldn't let go of him as Oliver gently pulled her.

"Mom," Kenzi said, a water smile playing at her lips, "other people need to see him too."

"Here, don't let go of my hand," Oliver suggested, squeezing hers.

"The last time I did, you knocked up a drug addict, brought home Jane and told us you joined the Marines." Thelma sniffled. "I don't plan on doing that again."

"Ready," Kenzi asked once they reached the corner turning into the dining room.

"As I'll ever be," he said before he stepped off down the two steps, the dogs clambering around at his feet. They were all sitting at the long, mahogany table – his family. On the left side his father, Alfred Lewis, sat beside Thelma-May's empty chair and next to it was his daughter Jane, picking at her food. On the right side, his son, Thomas, sat on a small booster seat next to brother Jo and wife of five years, Jennifer, and next to him was his little angle, Katherine. There were two empty chairs at either head of the table – on was for him and the other, his absent fiancé.

Like before, the dogs barking drew the attention of the family.

"Daddy, you're back!" Katherine shouted, nearly falling out of her seat as she ran to him. Oliver knelt down as she crashed into him, her small arms wrapping around his neck. He looked up and saw Thomas's face, wide-eyes and open mouth, as he waddled over.

"Daddy! Daddy!" he shouted. Oliver maneuvered Katherine over enough so Thomas could crawl into the group hug. "I missed you, Daddy!

Oliver sighed, his eyes watering. "Oh, I missed you too, buddy!"

"What about me?" Katherine asked, pulling back.

"Of course," Oliver smiled. It broke his heart to see how much she's grown. "You're my princess."

Oliver looked up to see Jane standing off to the side a bit. He patted Katherine and Thomas' backs to let them know to let go and he stood up. He slowly walked over to Jane, held her beautiful face in his hands and started to cry. Luckily for him, Jane did too as she hopped up, wrapping both her arms and legs around him. She sobbed into his neck and he rubbed her back, whispering in her ear,

"I'm home, baby, I'm home."

"D-Daddy, I-I missed you-"

"I know, baby."

"I-I love you, okay? I-I love you-"

"I know, baby," he whispered putting her back down on the floor.

She stepped back, gripping his shoulders, tears still streaming down her face. "You can't ever go away again, you know that, right? Ever."

Oliver chuckled, kissing the top of her head. "When the hell did you get so tall?"

"About the same time we got married," Jennifer said, rubbing his back.

"Jenny," Oliver smiled, picking her up and twirling her around.

"Hey now, get your own wife," Joe said, walking up .He held out his hand for a shake but pulled his brother him. When they pulled apart, he clapped him on the shoulder. "Missed you, baby brother."

Oliver smiled and looked around, he found Alfred and his smile grew bigger. "Hey, old man."

"Shut up and get over here," he grumbled happily and hugged his son for the first time in five years. After a minute or so, Alfred let go. Oliver was about to ask something, but the sound of several plates shattering behind them. Immediately, Oliver turned, reaching for his gun, but when he saw the face of who it was – his fiancé, the love of his life – David King.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:/ Sorry in advanced for how long this is **** wanted to add some of Oliver's personal info somewhere in here. **

**COHEN-KING APARTMENT **

Detective Oliver Cohen didn't wake up to the sound of gunfire or the heat from a bomb blast. He woke up with the sun in his face, soft sheets around his naked waste, and the feel of a warm body next to him. He blinked away his sleepiness and took in the room.

Last he saw of it, it wasn't much – red brick wall; two mattresses stacked on top of each other with blankets tossed around; and two dressers and several rolling racks around the room. David had certainly spruced up, Oliver thought. The espresso stained bed he was lying had fluffy white sheets, a mattresses stuffed with clouds and four large posts holding up a white canopy that was currently drawn around the bed, obscuring the rest of the room.

"What're you thinking about?" A tired voice muttered from beside him. Oliver turned his head to the right slightly to see his fiancé, David King, lift his face off his pillow, propping himself up on his elbows.

"You," Oliver stretched. He reached out his arm and David moved closer to lay his head on Oliver's chest, his arm wrapping around his waist. Oliver put his arm around David's shoulders, his fingers lightly moving across his back. "Good morning."

"Yes, it is," David sighed, kissing Oliver's chest.

"How'd you sleep?"

"Better than you, I guess. Heard you tossing and turning all night."

"Sorry. First night home's always the hardest."

David chuckled. "You're telling me."

A wide grin spread across Oliver's face. "You have no idea how much I needed that."

"Couldn't tell. Not like there's a bunch of men batting for our team over there." David said sarcastically. When Oliver respond, he looked up at saw his fiancé looking towards the ceiling thoughtfully. "Was it something I said?"

Oliver opened his mouth to say something, but decided against it and shook his head. "Nevermind."

"Huh?"

He gently pushed David off of him as he sat up, swinging his feet over the side of the bed. "Forget about it."

David sat up, pulling the sheets over his own naked waist as Oliver pulled on his boxer briefs. "Oliver-"

"I said forget about it," he said more sternly. David ignored him and stretched out his hand to squeeze Oliver's shoulder. He sighed. "Seven years is – a – is a long time."

David let a small smile spread across his face. "Honey, if you're worried about performance-"

"No! No, that's…that's not what I'm worried about."

"Then what?" He squeezed his shoulder harder. "Oliver."

"You're right – Iraq, Afghanistan, Kuwait, all those places – not many people swing my way," Oliver sighed, slowly turning to meet the other man's eyes. "But this is New York. The City of Diversity."

"Your point?"

"What I'm trying to ask is if…if there…was there anyone-"

"Did I cheat?" David asked, pulling his hand away.

"Look," Oliver said taking David's hand back, "I-I don't know what I was thinking, no coffee, just ignore it. Never happened-"

"Two." David was staring at his hands on the sheets when he said it. He couldn't bring himself to look at Oliver.

Oliver's brows furrowed. "What about two?"

"The number of times I cheated…" David said softly. As soon as he heard those words, Oliver withdrew his hands from David's as if he'd been burned, which, emotionally, he had. He quickly got out of bed, swatting at the canopy.

David sat there a moment longer, utterly devastated, and tried to calm his breathing. When he began to hear the sound of drawers opening and closing with great vigor, he immediately became worried. He quickly slipped on last night's boxers and got out of bed. When he pulled back the curtains, he saw Oliver going through drawers. Half the articles he picked out went into a grey duffle bag, the other half in a pile on top of the dresser.

"Oliver?" David asked. He kept his distance out of slight concern for his own safety. "Oliver, what're you doing?"

Oliver didn't answer. He didn't slow down his search for clothes.

"Oliver-"

Oliver zipped up the duffle bag and slid it to lie beside the door. The clothes on top of the dresser, he picked up and walked to the grand master bathroom.

"Oliver, goddamn it, say something!" David yelled, throwing a pair of socks at him. They nailed Oliver dead center in the back of his head. Since they were socks, they didn't hurt in the slightest, but the act made Oliver stop in the bathroom doorway.

"What do you want me to say?" Oliver asked softly as he slowly turned around. His eyes were slightly red and his lips were in a tight, furious line. "That I forgive you? Is that what you want to hear, David?"

"No, I-"

"Good."

David sighed exasperated. "'Good'. That's all you have to say? 'Good'?"

"What the hell do you want me to say, David!"

"I cheated on you!" David yelled, taking a step closer. "I fucking cheated on you twice and all you fucking tell me is 'good'. I want you to yell; I want you to scream, throw things, get mad, punch a wall. Punch me!" Oliver flinched at his demand. "I want you to do anything, _anything_, but just fucking say _something_."

"Why?" Oliver asked softly.

David sighed, his anger melting and his guilt flooding. He said softly, "Because it lets me know you still care."

Oliver said nothing.

҉

**CRIME LAB**

"Jane, you're sixteen years old." Oliver was saying as he exited the stairwell. He wore a navy blue wool vest over a white dress shirt with blue Bengal stripes, dark blue jeans, a beige jacket was slung over his right arm that carried the grey duffle bag, and a brown leather briefcase satchel with a cross-body strap gently patted his leg as he walked. "You're perfectly capable of getting Katherine and Thomas ready for school."

_"But Aunt Kenzi usually does it if Papa is already at work. He left earlier than usual today. Did you two get in a fight or something?"_

Oliver sighed. "Baby, what do you want me to do, huh? I'm at work, David's at work, hell, I don't even know where you're Aunt Kenzi is. You're the only one home."

"_I know, but_-"

"No buts. Now what about breakfast; you guys eat yet?"

"_Tommy did_." Jane sighed. "_Katharine wants pancakes, but I don't have time to make them_."

"Okay, there's a little café on the way to the school, right? Buy some grub there."

"_I was saving up money to go shopping with Daniele later!"_

"I'll pay you back, Jane!" Oliver yelled, attracting some unwanted attention from the other lab workers. He spoke more quietly, "Get your brother and sister ready – teeth brushed, clothes on straight, backpacks packed – and go to the café to pick up breakfast. Save the receipt and I'll pay you back when I get home. Fair?"

"_I guess_," she grumbled. "_Bye_."

"Yeah," Oliver sighed, flipped his phone shut. By then, Detective Don Flack had jogged up to him with his eyebrow raised. "Not back one day and I come to find out daughter's a hormonal teenager. Where's that little girl who told me she wanted nothing but crayons from me?"

"Puberty hit," Don smiled. He opened up the glass door to Detective Mac Taylor's office and let Oliver in first.

"No – no, I don't want to be thinking about that." Oliver groaned.

"Thanks for coming in early," Mac greeted, shifting through folders on his desk.

"I caught Hawkes on his way out." Oliver said. "He's coming back up."

"All right," Mac turned and nodded to Technician Adam Ross who was sitting in the single red leather chair by the matching couch. "Tell me, one more time, what happened."

"Adam stood up and began pacing, left hand in pocket, right hand waving around. "I was on and they open up a live text and video feed between two computers at random."

"Cut to what you saw."

'Okay, well, the – the attacker had a – had a mask,' Adam squinted his eyes and breathed heavily, "and I'm pretty sure it was male, um, medium build, dark clothing, and gloves. He used some type of, uh, a thin cord to choke the victim with."

"Did you run an image capture?" Oliver asked as he put his bags on the floor by the couch.

"I tried, and, um…" Adam flinched. "But by the time I hit 'record', the – the poor girl's life just came crashing straight down."

"You get a hold of anybody at the website?" Mac asked Don.

"I did." Don nodded. "The Lookinatchu rep I spoke to in Stockholm said the site's a global platform, so it's users are basically everywhere."

"But the video transmission only exists between two computers until someone gets nexted." "Nexted?" Oliver asked. "And what's Lookinatchu?"

"Nexted is, uh," Adam said, fiddling with his hands, "if you, if you don't like someone, you just hit the return key and, well, it's called 'getting nexted'."

"Couldn't they track or record a chat from its servers?" Oliver asked Adam.

"Unfortunately, no." Don answered. "They basically give two strangers electronic room keys and leave the rest up to them."

"So if you actually saw a woman being killed," Mac said, "we have no online evidence of it whatsoever."

"No." Don shook his head. "Not to mention the fact that depending on where it happened, it may not even be in our jurisdiction."

Oliver sat down on the leather couch beside Adam. "Are you absolutely sure it was murder? While I was in Afghanistan, a few of my men would use their web-cam time to make snuff films and Internet hoaxes. They would even involve the locals, give them bits of their personal supply if they would be in it – staged suicides, bogus kidnappings. It could be very convincing."

"You're certain what you saw was real?" Mac asked.

Adam nodded, exhaling a puff of air. "I saw a man in black walk up behind a beautiful woman and choke the life right out of her." He started shaking his head. "I've never seen anyone get murdered before…until tonight."

"All right, then." Mac said calmly. "We've got our work cut out for us."

"No kidding," Don said, tapping his memo book. "We don't know who our killed is. We don't know who our victim is."

"Plus, our crime scene could be anywhere in the world." Oliver sighed. "Wonderful way to start the morning off, huh?"

҉

**LAB**

Doctor Sheldon Hawks was dancing around lab equipment as he made his way over to where Oliver and Adam were sitting in front of several large monitors.

"Okay," he said, typing furiously on a keyboard. "I'm locked and loaded on a dozen different databases." He switched to another keyboard. 'Google to Interpol, LexisNexis, and every Bing in between." He walked away from the computers and picked up a tablet. "All you've got to do is start talking, Adam."

"That's just it," Adam said. He was hunched over in a desk chair, elbows on knees, rubbing his hands nervously. "I feel like I've forgotten everything, like I can't remember any of the details."

"That's not uncommon with witnessing a trauma. Sometimes it locks up." Oliver said. He sat in a desk chair beside Adam, notebook in hand. "Don't worry; I learned to carry a spare set of keys."

Adam looked over and saw Oliver smiling. "Okay, how-how do you want to do this?"

"Tell me about your first kiss," Oliver shrugged.

His face contorted in confusion. "My what?'

"How old were you? What was her name?"

Adam looked up at Sheldon for advice, but he shrugged. Adam sat back in his seat and faced Oliver. "Um…okay, uh…" he sighed. "It was in the fifth grade. Her name was Julie, and she lived across the street from me. I won her a – a stuffed blue dog at the county fair, and that's when she gave me the kiss."

"What'd she look like?"

"Long, brown hair, brown, twinkly eyes, troublemaker smile."

"What about the girl you saw this morning?"

He scrunched his eyes in thought, looking down at the tile. "Beautiful brunette, leafy green eyes, light olive skin….early twenties, maybe?"

As Adam was speaking, Sheldon was typing the description as Oliver wrote it down. "Impressive," Sheldon said from the computer.

Oliver gave the boys a Chestshire cat grin. "I used to flirt with the medic assigned to my company and she'd help us cope with anything traumatic that we would see. I watched her process and picked up on some things. She told me that new memories are usually stored in the college of hippos-"

"Hippocampus?" Sheldon asked with a smile.

"Yeah. Anyway, they're transferred to the brain's frontal lobes for long-term storage. But when a person's memory experiences traumatic collapse, sometimes you have to dig from the other side using memory triggers, potent emotions from the past, to unlock memories in the present."

"Hottie, wasn't she? The doctor?" Sheldon asked, crossing his arms.

"I'm engaged, remember?"

"She also had an accent," Adam said, ignoring the conversation. "Uh, it was like a – a French accent, I think."

"Olive skin makes me think…Southern France – Marseille, Cote d'Azur." Oliver said, pointing at the digital map of the world on one of the screens.

Sheldon walked over to it, zoomed in on France, and clicked those cities. He backed out just enough to click on a city in Africa. "Morocco, maybe?" He turned to Adam. "Come on, do you remember anything else about her place? Anything."

He sighed and shook his head. "Not really."

"Where were you standing when Julie kissed you?" Oliver asked.

"Uh...in her front yard." He started to smile. "She had this awesome lawn that we used to roll down, um, in our bathing suits."

"What did you see near the Vic?"

Adam lost his smile. "I saw…a white, curvy shape. Uh, it was a – it was a cloud." Adam straightened in his chair. "It was a cloud. It had the number 58 on it. It was in the corner of a flat-panel TV screen, but I couldn't see the whole screen."

"TV news and weather reports usually put current local temps in the corner." Oliver said. Sheldon pointed at him and began typing again. "Cros-referance a 58-degree temperature with the approximate time of 7:35, 6:40 a.m Eastern."

"All right." Sheldon did and transferred it onto the world map on the big screen with the pins on it. Six dots appear. "Okay, Six different major cities in the world reported a 58-degree temperature at that time."

"Hold up." Oliver raised his pen. "It was only 3:35 PM in Moscow, 1:35 PM in Paris, and 11:35 in Botswana, Portland, and Vancouver."

"New York was the only city to be running the local news." Sheldon said, clicking on it.

"She's in Manhattan," Adam said as he furiously snapped his fingers. "I remember seeing the woman's stone face. I-I thought it looked familiar." He kept snapping his fingers, jamming his eyes closed, until they popped open. "It's a – it's a sculpture on an old midtown building, 30's I think. She appears on all four sides of the tower."

Sheldon brought up a 3-D computer generated model on the big screen and twirled it around slowly with his index finger. He kept going, doing two rotations, until he found something. "Look at this." He pointed at a generated building adjacent to it. "There's only one adjacent structure tall enough to see her from the window."

Oliver smiled as he balled up a piece of paper. "Got her." He leaned back in the chair and shot the ball expertly into the trash bin on the other side of the room.

҉

**APARTMENT BUILDING**

The super. lead Mac, Don, Adam and Oliver up to the apartment in question. He opened the door and automatically stood back; it had become a common reflex for him over his thirty years working as a building's super in New York. With guns drawn, Don and mac swept the place, looking for any sign of life, while Oliver stayed near the door with Adam. Once the two room apartment was deemed safe, Don holstered his gun and said,

"Clear."

Mac did the same. "Clear, here, too."

Oliver kept his gun out as he knelt down to check the pulse of the woman lying face down in the middle of the room. He kept his hand on her neck for about thirty seconds before looking up at Mac and shaking his head. Adam had drifted into the room.

"That's her." He whispered.

҉

**LATER**

While Detective Danny and Lindsey Messer was processing the scene upstairs, Oliver leaned against the glass doors of the building and watched Adam who was standing on the sidewalk, watching the street. Oliver pushed himself off the doors and walked up behind Adam, tapping him on the right shoulder before moving to stand by the left.

Adam didn't notice.

Oliver's brows furrowed in concern for his new colleague. "You all right?"

He sighed deeply. "I've been better."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"What's there to say? He strangled her, she died…" he turned his head slightly to noticed Mac approaching them, "end of transmission." When he reached them, Adam avoided his eyes. "I'll go wait in the car."

Before Oliver could register his concern with Mac, Don came up with his nose in his memo pad. "Our Vic's name is Sass Dumonde. She's 20 years old. She moved here from Paris on a music scholarship to Chelsea."

"Everything about her – clothes, hair, apartment décor – reminds me of my daughter Jane - an open, free spirit – which means she might not have made the smartest choices about who she spent her time with."

Mac raised his eyebrow up at Oliver who shrugged. He turned to Don, pulling out his sunglasses. "She live alone?"

"No roommate. According to her land lord she was a model tenant. He never had a problem with her.

In a CSI: Miami fashion, he was putting on his tinted shades when he said, "Somebody certainly did." He looked over his shoulder at the Avalanche on the curb, then looked back at Oliver. "How's he doing?"

He shrugged. "Can be expected."

"I'll go talk to him-"

"Nah, I got him." Oliver shook his head, starting to walk over there. A few seconds later, he was knocking on the passenger side window. Adam had his eye closed and was startled awake. When he saw it was Oliver, he rolled down the window.

"Yeah?"

"You're being ridiculous." Oliver said simply. Since Adam blew him off the first time, Oliver had decided to treat him like he would his own kids.

"What?"

"You deal with death every day. This case is no different. Man up."

"Are you kidding me?" Adam looked hurt and confused. "Oliver, I saw this girl alive. She's not just another dead body on the slab to me." Oliver gave him a small smile and a wink. Adam sighed knowingly embarrassed. "Oh, no, did you just do that so I'd spill my guts?" Oliver didn't answer. "Oh, damn it."

"Sorry, Adam." He put on hand on the window and leaned in slightly. "You can't keep your feelings bottled up. 'Contents may explode under pressure'."

"I bet you're a big hit with your kids," Adam said a bit sarcastically.

Oliver chuckled. "Truthfully, you said something to me a few minutes ago that kind of stuck with me."

"What's that?"

"You used the words 'end of transmission'. Did you mean you got nexted?"

"Oh, I guess. Yeah, there was a few seconds after the computer fell and then the chat was terminated."

Oliver tapped the glass as he thought. "So…someone else out there could have seen what happened next."

"Most likely, yeah," Adam said as Oliver pulled his buzzing cellphone from his pocket.

"Cohen."

_"Ollie, its Danny. Wanna update?"_

"Shoot."

"_Looks like strangulation is what killed her_," Oliver heard Lindsey said distantly. There was a slight noise from where Danny must have put the phone on speaker before he could hear her more clearly. "_Ligature marks are consistent with Adam's description of a fine cord, yet none of the cords here are thin enough to have done it."_

"So the perp must've brought it with him. What else?"

"_iPads died a horrible death, too."_ Danny said. "_Smashed to hell, but got a few smudge prints. Can't say for sure without further analysis, but, uh, their size seems to be a bit masculine for her fingers."_

_"Our murder weapon isn't the only thing that's missing, Oliver_." Lindsey said.

"What do you mean?"

_"The laptop that she used for Lookinatchu is nowhere in the apartment. The perp must have taken it with him, too."_

"So he took the murder weapon and the laptop," Oliver counted off with his fingers. "So how'd he get in?"

_"There's no obvious signs of B & E."_

"This is an old building, Lindsey, both our kids could pick that lock."

Danny chuckled. "_That's what I thought. Either that or he had a key."_

"You guys have a theory on what happened?"

"_Yeah_,' Lindsey said. "_Sass Dumonde was listening to her music, probably a little too loud, before she knew what was happening…he strangled her."_

"From what you're telling me, this doesn't feel like just a murder. Whoever killed Ms. Dumonde wanted more from her and was will to kill her for it."

҉

**OLIVER'S OFFICE**

Oliver felt his pocket vibrate. HE took out his phone and was about to flip it open when he saw the caller I.D – David King. He sighed and dropped his phone onto his desk and watched it vibrate around. This was the fifth time today David has been trying to talk to him, but Oliver just couldn't do it.

"Careful, the desk is glass," Mac said as he stuck his head into the office. Oliver didn't even hear him, he kept staring at the vibrating phone. "You gonna take that?"

Mac's voice startled Oliver. "Huh, what?"

"Could be important," Mac pointed to the phone. It had gone silent.

"Not anymore," Oliver said with a touch of sadness as he pocketed the phone.

Mac's eyebrows furrowed. "You okay? It's your first full day back in the states; I don't want to push you if you need more time-"

"No," Oliver quickly answered. "No, no, I-I'm good."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, yeah, just, uh," Oliver shook his head. "It's nothing. Forget about it."

Mac waited a moment before nodding. "Alright. Call me if you need me."

"I'm going your way," Oliver got out of his chair and followed mac out of the office. "You know, smart phones and tablets were some nerd's wet dream when I left. Now, it seems like everybody has one. Pretty sure there's a new saying, 'it's all fun and gigabytes until somebody gets hurt'.'

"Or killed."

"Right. Adam was nexted immediately after the attack. So, in hope of finding someone who saw what happened afterwards," Oliver punched the down arrow on the elevator, "I got our Swedish friends at Lookinatchu to allow multiple postings of Sass Dumonde's photo."

Oliver handed over a tablet with a picture of Sass's picture with the captaion underneath it reading, "HAVE YOU SEEN THIS GIRL? Please contact the NYPD (212) 555-0108".

"Good. How often will it run?"

"Every two connections to the site. Hold on, I did the math…" Oliver pulled out a sticky note from his pocket. "Worldwide, that's approximately 150,000 users an hour with nexting an average of every ninety seconds."

The elevator doors chimed and Mac got in. "Well, let's hope that one of them actually saw something after Adam got nexted, and is willing to tell us about it." As the doors closed, he said, "Nice notes."

Oliver stuck his hand in between the closing doors. "You going down to see Adam?"

"Yeah."

"Mind if I join?" Mac moved over so that Oliver could step in. "I need him to block a number for me."

҉

**COMPUTER LAB**

"I've been trying to locate our missing laptop." Sheldon was saying as he typed on his laptop. Adam sat on a lab table with Oliver as Mac leaned against another one as they waited. "There was only one computer Adam was connected to when sass Dumonde was killed. It has to be hers."

"Then do that-that ping thing and find the current location." Oliver suggested.

"That's what we've been trying to do." Adam said. "But it's IP address is part of a corporate pool, so it changes every time the user logs on from a different location."

"Then find out who owns the pool," Mac instructed.

"We did," Sheldon brought up a new screen with a company's logo on it. "Dragga Financial."

"The big Wall Street investment firm." Mac said, surprised.

"Yeah, with 5,000 employees." Sheldon nodded. "Only, Sass wasn't one of them."

"Then the computers might not be hers to begin with." Oliver said, pushed off the table.

"Yeah," Sheldon said, turning to Mac, "so even with the company's user logs, finding a constantly changing address is like finding a needle in a haystack."

"Needle in a needle stack." Oliver said, looking around. "Sounds….harder." He shook his head. "There's got to be a better way."

"There is," Adam spoke up, drawing everyone's attention. "Every computer accesses the internet through a series of virtual ports, all right?"

"Sure…" Oliver squinted his eyes, trying to understand. Mac silently glanced over at him and smirked.

"I could dig into Dragga Financial's network and find a computer with a matching port and seize it with a virus. Right? Then, I'd be able to remotely control everything on Sass's laptop from keyboard to camera."

"You mean hacking?" Mac asked.

"Well, it's the only way we can look this perp in the eye without him knowing. We could find out exactly where he is."

"I know I'm not the smartest, but isn't that illegal? And if so, we couldn't use that." Oliver turned to Mac. "Right?"

"Mac," Adam pleaded. "I saw this girl get murdered."

"The answer is no, Adam." Mac said. "Just because you were a witness to a crime doesn't mean you can start committing them."

Mac walked out, Sheldon followed. Adam hung his head, shaking it, and didn't notice when Oliver stayed.

"How are you holding up?"

Adam looked up, slightly startled that the other man stayed. "What?"

Oliver walked over to him, sliding along a chair to sit in. "Did I stutter?"

"I-I don't know…" Adam shook his head, putting it back in his hands. "I know what needs to be done, Oliver! We can get this guy. I-I just can't do it, though."

Oliver was quite for a few moments. "Anything I can do beside aid you getting thrown in jail?"

"Tell me I'm not the only one have a shitty day?"

"No…you're not the only one." Oliver sighed, leaning back in his seat. "You know how to block a cell phone number?"

"With my hands cut off, why?" Adam lifted his head.

"Like I said," Oliver stood up and walked towards the door. "You're not the only one having a shitty day."

҉

**LAB**

As Oliver shrug on his lab coat, he placed a call to the Messers for an update. The dried goo and the wooden splinter Danny had collected off the floor led them back to Sass Dumonde's former professor's headphones. The goo was biocellulose residue from one of the broken diaphragms and the splinter fragment was from a rare wood used to make them. The serial number on the splinter brought them back to the professor. They were extremely rare and expensive, especially on a faculty member's salary. Those headphones, as it turns out, were her cause of death.

"_Messer,"_ Danny answered.

"Hey, Danny, it's Oliver. Give me an update."

_"Professor William Aldicott claims his Yoneshiga C-5 headphones were stolen by Ms. Dumonde and her boyfriend."_

"He give you a reason?"

_"Says Ms. Dumonde took his composition class and turned in some pop music for her final, then she claimed that he stole the melody for his doctoral thesis. He says he didn't. He also didn't file a complaint when Ms. Dumonde's boyfriend allegedly attacked him. Slammed the teach's head into the piano keys. Says that when they stole the headphones."_

"Why didn't he file a complaint?"

_"He isn't too far away from getting his tenure, and doesn't want any trouble."_

"Little late for that."

"_Yeah, that's what I said. Anyway, he says he knows absolutely nothing about the boyfriend and swears he didn't kill her."_

"You believe him?"

_"Well, considering it was his headset that was the murder weapon, there was cause to kill her, and no apparent signs of a boyfriend…I'd say we should still keep an eye on him."_

"Thanks. Head back to camp." As soon as the words trickled out of his mouth, he winced. Danny didn't miss it.

"_'Head back to camp'?"_ Danny chuckled. "_This ain't the corps, brother. This is New York."_

"Something I am reminded of every day." Oliver clicked his phone closed and set it in his pocket.

The next thing he did was put on latex gloves and spent the next hour and a half going over all the smashed iPads, gathering fingerprints and running them through the system. The first few sets got no match in AFIS, so he ran a program to connect all the possible matching prints while he worked on other things, like prying apart the iPads and connecting them to the computer.

That's when he found something.

҉

**MAC'S OFFICE**

Oliver walked into the office as Mac was turning away from his computer with a smile on his face.

"What's up?" Oliver asked.

Mac shook his head. "You got something?"

"Oh, well, somebody beside the Vic left a few particle prints on the iPads." He sat in on the the black chairs in front of the desk. "I'm running an assembly algorithm right now. Meanwhile, I discovered all three iPads were registered to different users, and each of them had a theft complaint in the system."

"So they were stolen, too." Mac said.

Just then, Lindsey came into the office through the second door, holding out a USB. "We got a hit on Lookinatchu. There's a father in Michigan." She walked over to Mac's big screen and plugged in the USB. "He installed a network logger on his daughter's computer."

"Smart idea," Oliver added. "Keeping tabs on all the sites she visits. Remind me to have Adam work on that for me next."

"Tell me about it," Lindsey added. She hunched over Mac's desk and began typing on his keyboard. "It turns out his daughter was on Lookinatchu at the time of the murder. He saw our post and sent us this video capture."

With a single click, she pulled up the video: A man wearing a ski mask leaned over Sass's body to make sure she was dead before realizing the camera was still on. He quickly shut it off. Lindsey paused it.

"We're looking into the eyes of our killer," Mac muttered.

Oliver's watched beeped, nearly causing him to jump out of his chair. Lindsey looked questionably at him. Oliver did the same to his watch before realizing what it was for.

"Ah, shit," Oliver said, jumping out of his chair.

"Where's the fire?" Mac asked jokingly.

"Ah, permission to pick my kids up from school, sir." Again, the format was habit, but it still made Oliver wince and Mac and Lindsey smirked.

"Granted," Mac nodded his head.

"Thanks," Oliver grabbed his tablet and headed for the door Lindsey came through, stopping to peck her cheek. She smiled and watched him through the glass as he rushed to the elevator.

Mac chuckled and Lindsey looked down at him. "What is it?"

"It's nice to know some of us have lives outside this place."

҉

**M****ARILYN MONROE EDUCATIONAL CENTER**

A few years before Ms. Monroe's death in 1962, she helped create a school for children of all grades to learn - from preschool to twelfth grade. It was very prestigious and only the smartest, most talented, and/or perhaps the wealthiest children in New York went here to study a multitude of subjects that would normally be found certain specialty schools. It was mainly David and his connections that kept the children going here instead of a normal public school.

Oliver tried not to think of the consequences of what would happen to the children's schooling if he and David separated. He shook the idea out of his head when he spotted Jane walking Katherine and Thomas.

Thomas ripped his hand from Jane's when he saw David, Katherine following a few seconds after.

"Daddy! Daddy!" Thomas and Katherine chorused. Like the night before, they jumped into his arms, trying to get as close as possible. Jane walked up with a smile on her face, looking at her siblings claiming a side of their father, their skinny arms wrapping around his neck.

"Hey, Popsicle," Jane said, stepping in to give him a hug around the waist.

"Popsicle?" Oliver asked after he kissed her hair.

Jane shrugged. "Trying out new lingo."

"And new clothes?" Oliver raised a skeptical eyebrow at her wardrobe: A yellow short-sleeve shirt with an unreasonable deep V-cut with a faded 'Parental Advisory' stamp on the front; she matched it with short blue jean shorts, yellow converse, black backpack and her hair down and free flowing. "Please tell me you were not dressed like this the whole day?"

Again, Jane shrugged. "It's a hot style."

"It's a trashy style. You're changing when we get home."

Jane rolled her eyes and stomped towards the front door, taking the little one's small backpacks. Oliver sighed and followed her.

"Do I look trashy?" Katherine asked innocently.

Oliver looked down to see she was wearing khaki capri pants, red shirt and white polka-dot shirt and sandals. Her hair was tied in pigtails. He smiled and winked. "Cute as a June bug."

҉

**COHEN-KING APARTMENT**

"Alright, Jane, take out the dogs; Kat, Tommy, get their food ready," Oliver said as he unlocked the front door. Katherine and Thomas raced each other to the pantry. Jane grumbled as she slid her book bag on the floor in frustration.

"I'm supposed to be shopping right now."

"Not until you take out the dogs and change your clothes." Oliver pointed his finger at her. Jane came out of the 'Dog House', the extra room where they kept the animals and their things, with Bear and Jack on thick leashes.

"Whatever," she grumbled and walked out the door.

"Keep your phone on!" Oliver shouted at her before the door slammed.

"Teen troubles?" A sarcastically oblivious voice said from behind Oliver. He turned around to see Kenzi sitting at the kitchen table surrounded by open textbooks and notebooks. He wasn't sure what shocked him more, the studying or the fact she was dressed normally: jeans, vintage 'Save Ferris' shirt, and a red wine vinyl jacket. She kept her combat boots, though.

"Yeah…" he casually walked over to the table to see what she was studying. "Where've you been? Jane said you left earlier than usual."

"I've been…out."

"Out where?" He quickly snatched one of the books and peeked at the cover. "Advanced health care? Why are you reading a nursing textbook?"

"Hey!" She snatched the textbook back, quickly clearing away her things. She had been so absorbed in her course that she hadn't realized Oliver's presence. "What the hell do you think you're doing?!"

"I could politely ask you the same thing." Oliver smirked. Kenzi glared at him. She swung her backpack over her shoulder as she pushed off from the table. Oliver shot out his hand to shot her. "Ken – Kenzi wait. Wait." She stopped, but didn't look at him. "Kenzi, I'm sorry. Okay?"

"Are you done?" She glared.

"No, I'm not done." He turned serious. "I'm trying to catch up with my baby sister, but she's being a bitch." She looked up to glare at him, but she caught his joking smile. Seeing him smile perked her up a bit. "Now, can you please tell me what you've been up to?"

She sighed. "I-I got into college…."

"You what?!" Oliver shouted. Kenzi winced. He surprised her by picking her up and twirling her around in the kitchen. He was laughing cheerfully, grinning ear-to-ear when he put her down. He gave her a wet kiss on the forehead.

"Gross, Ollie!" Kenzi laughed, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "It's not that big of a deal."

"Not that big of a deal?! What are you, cracked? Of course it's a huge fucking deal!" He pulled her bookbag off her shoulder and pushed her back into her chair. He sat beside her, holding her hand with childlike glee in his eyes. "Tell me everything."

"Everything? W-where do I start?"

"The beginning!" he gently poked her shoulder.

She batted away his finger. "David helped me enroll into nursing school shortly after you left. Turns out I'm really good, Ollie. I mean, really good. David put in a good word for me at the teaching hospital where when I'm not in class, I'm at the hospital." She gave Oliver the biggest smile he's seen on her in a long time. "It's terrific! I've made so many friends, dated a few great guys-"

"Nothing like the ones before?" Oliver asked seriously.

She rolled her eyes. "Hell no. Working at the hospital has defiantly sobered me up. I am steering clear of that scene."

Oliver smiled proudly. He brought her hand up to his mouth to kiss it. "Kenzi, you have no idea how proud I am of you right now."

Hearing those words, she began to tear up. She wiped them away quickly. "Oh, God, I'm fucking crying. Way-to-go, asshole." She playfully punched his chest.

"Alright, I've got to go." Oliver said. He stood up, bending over to kiss the top of her head.

"You just got home!"

"Yeah, yeah, I know." Oliver opened the fridge to grab a cup of yogurt before heading out. "I'll probably be back late so don't wait up. Make sure the kids eat and do their homework. Jane is going out with a friend, so-"

"Ollie," Kenzi stopped him short. "It's not my first time watching them."

"I know," he said softly, a trace of sadness.

҉

**LAB**

"So the perp is defiantly male" Mac said in the computer lab. Oliver was to his right, Sheldon pulling up the picture of the killer and typing on his tablet.

"Brown eyes, dark lashes," Oliver described, "tan skin from what I can see."

"Hard to tell any more than that." Sheldon said, standing between Oliver and Mac. "Might be worth trying to run it through digital enhancement?"

Mac nodded. "Give it a shot. See what you get."

Sheldon took his tablet and left the room just as Don was entering. "Maybe it'll turn out to be this guy. Those partial prints you ran were a match in AFIS to some lowlife named Torrey Powell." He handed the file to Oliver as he came to stand before them. "He's got multiple priors for assault and portable electronic theft."

Oliver read it over quickly before handing it to Mac. Torrey Powell was a twenty-two year old white male with brown hair and grey eyes, five foot ten with no identifiable marks. Mac held up the file to the screen for a visual comparison.

҉

**INTERROGATION ROOM**

**POLICE PRECENT**

Torrey Powell sat in a steel chair opposite Oliver at the cold steel table as Don walked around them.

"I didn't kill Sass," Torrey said with sass.

"Oh no?" Don chuckled humorlessly. "'Cause we found a key to Sass Dumonde's apartment on your keychain…your fingerprints on three stolen iPads that were in her possession. We know you took her professor's headphones."

"So?"

"Those headphones were used to strangle her." Oliver informed him. "See how it all kind of works together?"

"I'm innocent!" Torrey shouted.

Don opened up the file and skimmed down. "With priors for theft and assault? I don't think so. How long were you and Sass dating?"

"Few months, maybe. I haven't seen her in a while."

"Really?" Oliver said, leaning back in his seat. "'Cause we found fresh prints that belong to you on her iPads."

"Stolen iPads." Don added.

"When was the last time you saw her, Torrey?" Oliver continued.

Torrey shrugged. "Stopped by her place last week for a little action."

"And?" Don crossed his arms, impatient.

"She turned me down." Torrey said defensively and Don smiled.

"Is that when you gave her the stolen laptop?" Oliver asked.

"I always came bearing gifts." Torrey looked away, hurt. "But when she sent me packing-"

"She was dead to you." Don finished for him. Torrey swallowed hard, getting his meaning. "That it?"

"I didn't kill her, man."

Oliver sighed. "Look, _man_, I'm missing out on reading my daughter her favorite bedtime story and arguing with my fiancé, so why don't we cut to the chase. Alright? Where did you get the stolen laptop?"

"Some rich tool left it in the front seat of his car." Torrey shifted in his seat.

"What kind of car?" Don asked.

"I didn't notice," Torrey gave him lip.

Oliver chuckled, flashing a sarcastic smile. "That's funny! You wanna know what I've noticed?" Torrey squinted his eyes. "You swallow a lot. And I mean a lot a lot. I don't mind swallowing every now and then, maybe that's your thing," Don snorted, catching the double meaning. "I don't mean to make you feel self-conscious. It's a common OCD anxiety disorder." Oliver looked up at Don and shrugged. "Dated someone with the same thing." He turned back to Torrey. "What most people do is exercise or some kind of organized sport to keep your mind focused. But, hey, they aren't really options right now, so here's what I suggest," he leaned forward on the table and whispered, "un-fuck yourself."

"Excuse me?" Torrey asked, confused. He looked up at Don. "Who is this guy?"

"Someone you should listen to." Don nodded over to Oliver, who continued.

"You're screwed, Torrey." Oliver leaned back in his seat, lacing his hands behind his head. "There's this part of your body…the, uh, the sympathetic nervous system is responsible for your body's reaction to stress. Right now, you're under a shit load, am I right? The only way to fix that is to…alleviate yourself.

"How about tell us the truth, Torrey?" Don asked, sitting down beside Oliver.

"Consider your personal safety," Oliver patted his throat to emphisie his point.

"The fuck kind of mind games you playing?" Torrey asked, backing away a little in his seat.

"Look, it's a simple thing to understand. On one hand," Oliver held out his left hand, "you can lie and perjure yourself." He lifted his right hand. "But the whole time, you're going to keep swallowing…and swallowing…and swallowing…and swallowing-"

"Alright!" Torrey shouted. "It was from a Beemer, silver sedan."

Oliver held up his fist and Don pounded it, all without looking away from Torrey.

҉

**LATER – SQUAD ROOM **

**POLICE PRECEINT **

"Finally!" Don shouted. He sat at his desk, arms in the air, praising the uniformed cop that brought in a large brown bag with grease on the bottom. In his other hand, he carried two to-go drinks. "About time, Officer."

"Sorry, Detective," the young man smiled. "Traffic's hell."

"At this time of night?" Oliver asked, checking his watch – ten PM.

"New York, baby," Don said as he took the two burgers and a medium box of fries out of the bag. "City that never sleeps."

"Alright, thanks," Oliver smiled as he paid the cop the amount for the food.

"You got me thirsty listening to that interview," Don muttered around his straw. After downing about half the contents in the cup, he turned to Oliver who was eating his burger. "So, what do you think? Do you like this guy as a suspect?"

"Given what little description we have on our killer, he does look similar." Oliver said around a mouthful. He swallowed and gulped his drink. "If you don't mind, could you pull all the burglary reports matching the BMW that he told us about?"

"Think it might belong to someone at Dragga Financial?"

"If it does," Oliver stuffed a few fries into his mouth, "and we can find out who the laptop was stolen from, it might give us the one thing we're missing."

"What's that?"

"Besides decent ketchup? Motive."

Don chuckled. "What's wrong with the ketchup? Better than that vacuum sealed MREs you boys get."

"Very true, but it's still shit." Oliver and Don laughed around their food as Oliver's phone rang. "Hold on…" he wiped his hands on a napkin before pulling his phone out of his pocket and checking the I.D. "It's Mac."

"What's he want?" Don asked, fries sticking out of his mouth.

"Don't know," Oliver muttered before opening it up. "Cohen."

_"It's Mac."_

"What's up?"

_"You still at the station house?"_

"Yeah, Don and I got finished with Powell a little while again."

_"I just got the interview on tape."_

Oliver's brow scrunched. "Something wrong with it?"

Mac chuckled. _"No, no, impressive tactic, but nothing wrong. Just wanted to give you an update."_

"Okay. Shoot."

_"Hawks was able to unmask our perp-"_

"With a computer?" Oliver sounded astounded. "Fucking impressive. Uh, sorry…sir." He coughed. "You were saying?"

Oliver could hear the smile in Mac voice as he talked. _"Like I was saying, the unmasked perp has a similar facial structure as the professor, but wrong skin color. The hair is closer to the boyfriend's, but the brow and cheekbones are off. Sheldon is sending a copy to your tablet."_

Oliver sighed. "Who is this guy?"

_"That's what we're working on. You coming back to the office?"_

Oliver checked his watch – ten thirty-five. "No, not tonight. Think I might be heading home."

_"Alright. See you tomorrow morning."_

"Night, Mac." Oliver clicked his phone shut. He sighed, rolling up his garbage and stuffing it into the brown bag. "I'm heading out."

"So early?" Don asked with a smile.

"Some of us unfortunately have children."

Don laughed. "You love 'em and you know it." Another call came in on Oliver's cell phone. Don picked it up off of his desk and read the ID. "Blocked number? Have Adam check into it if it keeps calling."

"Adam's the one who blocked it for me." Oliver said softly, taking back the phone.

Don looked at him curiously. "Everything alright?"

Oliver stopped short, halfway between leaving and staying. After a few beats of tapping his finger on the table, he turned to Don with a sad smile. "We'll see. Thanks for the burgers, Don."

"Yeah, just, uh," Don stood up to shake hands with Oliver. "Whatever's going on, just, uh, know you're not alone."

Oliver winked. "Never alone in New York."

҉

**CRIME LAB**

**OLIVER & LINDSEY'S OFFICE**

"How was the shopping trip?" Oliver asked Jane as he walked into his office, turning on lights and powering his computer.

_ "Exciting! Daniele found these super cute shoes on sale."_

"All you bought were shoes? In four hours?" Oliver teased.

_"No, Daddy, you know me better than that._" Jane laughed. "_I got a new bag, some shirts-"_

"Decent, intact shirts?"

Oliver could practically hear the eyes roll. _"Yes, Daddy. I got some stuff to Kat and Tommy, too. Picked up some lipstick for Aunt Kenzi, a new tie for Papa – oh! Speaking of Papa, he's been trying to call you, like, a million times. Are you two fighting?"_

Oliver sighed. "That's none of your business, Jane."

_"Of course it is! You guys are my parents; everything you do is my business."_ She lowered her voice. _"But, seriously, Dad, what's going on? Papa looked like a complete wreck when he walked in."_

"How bad?" Oliver asked quietly.

_"Bad, like-like someone ripped out his heart stabbed it right in front of him. Repeatedly."_ Oliver did say anything. _"So you are having a fight…?"_

Out of the corner of his eye, Oliver spotted Mac leaning against the door. He looked mildly concerned. "Hey, baby, I got to go. I'll be home late so listen to your Aunt Kenzi."

_"Wait, Papa wants to talk-"_

Oliver flipped the phone shut and turned to Mac. "So…what's up, Mac?"

"Could ask you the same thing. Thought you were going home."

"I was – I mean, I am, just right after I finish some work."

Mac gestured if he could come in. Oliver nodded and Mac sat down on the couch. "I haven't known you that long, but I can tell when something's not right."

"If you think I have PTSD-"

"Do you?"

"No," Oliver chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "I almost wish I do compare to what's going on."

"What's going on?" Mac asked, concerned. Oliver shook his head. "Believe it or not, you've made a few friends here already and they're concerned about you. You asked Adam to block a number that keeps calling you, you refuse to go home….Is there anything else?"

Oliver looked away. "Believe that's all."

"Don't make me pull rank, Gunny." Mac said with military authority that snapped Oliver's attention out of habit. "I cannot have a member of my team, my second in command, acting the way you are now. If there are problems, medical, physical or otherwise-"

"Dammit Mac!" Oliver sighed, throwing his pen down on his desk. "What the hell do you want me to do?! Huh?"

"I want you to tell me what's going on!"

"My fucking fiancé cheated on my, twice, while I was gone!" Mac saw the hurt fleet across Oliver's face. Then silently, "Is that what you wanted to hear, Mac?" Mac fell silent. Oliver sighed. "That's what I thought."

"Did you know the people that she slept with?" Mac asked in the same quiet tone.

Oliver shook his head. "No. One works at the hospital. The other was from a bar, or something." He looked up at Mac. "Your wife, Claire, did she ever…?"

Mac shook his head. "No. No."

Oliver chuckled. "You were a lucky man, Mac." They were silent for a minute. "Mac, I have no idea what to do. "I mean, If we separate, what'll that do to the kids? Their schooling is mainly supported by his salary with the hospital-"

"He?" Mac looked confused, not knowing if he heard Oliver right. Oliver's slightly flushed face and awkward silence confirmed what he had heard. "Oh."

"'Oh'?"

Mac shrugged. "Oh. Nothing to it."

"You're…you're okay with that?" Oliver asked shakily.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Mac stood up with a heavy sigh. "What's his name?"

"David." Oliver started tapping his finger. "David King. Head of Neurosurgery at the NYC teaching hospital."

"Do you love him?"

Oliver hesitated. "Doesn't matter now, does it?"

"It does and you know it." Mac sat on the edge of Oliver's cluttered desk. "Go home. Tuck your kids in, kiss your sister, and talk to David." Mac got up and walked out the door, calling over his shoulder, "That's an order, Gunny."

"Hey, Mac!" Oliver called out. Mac stopped and turned around. "Do me a favor? Don't tell the others…about me, alright?"

Mac smiled. "Not my place. When you want to tell them, tell them."

Oliver nodded in thanks. "Night, Mac."

"Goodnight."

҉

**COHEN-KING APARTMENT**

It was nearly midnight when Oliver walked through the door. The only light he could see same from Kenzi's computer screen at the kitchen table. He dropped his briefcase on the kitchen island and smiled, thinking of how proud he was of his baby sister. They have never had an easy life, Oliver and Kenzi.

Oliver was born in 1976 in a small Jewish community to normal, well-to-do couple, Julia and Samuel. He even watched as Kenzi was being born on their kitchen table in 1984. He remembered having nightmares for months about it because of the movie _Alien_. They were a happy family. Too happy, maybe, and even at eight years old, Oliver knew it couldn't last long. And it didn't.

A few months after Kenzi was born, Julia and Samuel went out to a company dinner party and were on their way home when they were killed in a drunk-driving accident. Oliver thought it couldn't get worse until their uncle refused to take them in. He being the only living relative, there was no place else to put them. The kids were to be placed in foster homes, but that wouldn't guarantee Kenzi and Oliver staying together. An overworked, underpaid social worker with too many cases to account for stuck Oliver and Kenzi into the nearest institution to clear up space on his desk: Waterborne Orphanage.

For years, Oliver suffered at the hands of the staff. For the simple actions, mistakes or not, the children were punished. Kenzi was a baby, she didn't know better, so Oliver took the punishments as well. The earliest memory he had of Waterborne was nearly being drowned by the Headmistress for scuffing "borrowed" shoes. The staff needed no reason to hurt you, they just did. It came to no surprise to Oliver when the staff set fire to Waterborne to collect on insurance. What sickened Oliver most was that the children were locked inside the building. Apparently, loss of life dished a better pay-out. Oliver smashed windows and crawled out, carrying Kenzi in his arms. Once she was safe, Oliver went back in knowing he couldn't save them all, but he knew even one life saved would make a difference.

He saved ten.

After the fire was put out and the M.E took the bodies away, the insurance company paid out and the surviving children were shipped off to a new orphanage or foster homes. Oliver took Kenzi and ran. It was about two days later when Oliver decided to stop for the night in a barn somewhere in rural New York. He was always the one walking; he'd carry Kenzi when she got tired. The next morning, the owner of the barn caught them sleeping in a hay pile. Instead of calling the cops like anyone else would do, he woke them up and invited them to breakfast. The farmer's name was Albert Lewis. His wife, Thelma-May, instantly fell in love with the two. The couple's only son, Joe, was twenty-two, so the clothes he loaned Oliver weren't the best fit. When Oliver was changing, Albert saw the damage the orphanage had done to the boy. With much enthusiasm from Thelma-May, Albert staid they could stay on the farm as long as they worked – Oliver out in the fields with him and Joe, and Kenzi in the house with Thelma-May.

It was a year later, 1993, when Albert and Thelma-May officially adopted Oliver and Kenzi. Things began to look up for them: they had a family, they had food in their stomachs, and they were enrolled in school…something Waterborne never really invested in. They stayed out of trouble, for the most part, until 1994 when Oliver was eighteen years old and knocked up his high school girlfriend, Elizabeth McClain. She was a drug addict and he thought he could fix her. She got clean as soon as she found out she was pregnant, but shot up with heroine when the need became too much. The baby almost died. Jane Julia Cohen was born four months premature. Elizabeth was bed arrested for attempted murder, but she broke out. She tried to hit-up her dealer, but when he wouldn't give her any, she killed him. Elizabeth was arrested shortly after, high out of her mind. Seeing how Jane's life was starting off, knowing who her parents were and what kind of background they came from, Oliver made a judgment call. The joined the Marine Corps to give Jane a better life, to support her and be someone she could be proud of.

Kenzi was 14 when Oliver came out to her as being "gay" in 1998. She was the first he told and didn't fully understand. Oliver told his family next. Thelma accepted him like any mother would, only wishing him happiness, but Albert and Joe weren't as accepting. 2000 was a big year for them: Joe was getting married, Oliver was shipping out to Iraq, and Kenzi got her first arrest for stealing. Before Oliver shipped, Albert finally accepted him and Kenzi promised to straighten out. Joe was still hesitant, but loved Oliver more than his brother. Again, everything began to look up – Kenzi was on honor roll her junior year of High School, Jane began ballet lessons….and Oliver met Doctor David King.

David was a civilian doctor working in a small village near the mountains when he was taken hostage and moved to Baghdad to be executed on TV with other captured Americans. Oliver's company was sent in for rescue support. In typical David fashion, the first thing he did when he was free was ask Oliver out for a drink to cope with shock. It wasn't too long after that they began a relationship.

Three years later, David was offered the head of neurosurgery at the teaching hospital in New York City and was ecstatic to take it. Oliver and nine year old Jane moved in. A few months later, Kenzi was arrested for grand theft. It was her third strike, she was eighteen and she was going to prison. Since she was under eighteen, for a few more weeks, and David's lawyer was good, she was released on bail, but Oliver insisted that she work off her punishment. She moved in with Oliver and David and has stayed ever since, keeping up with her community service. She seemed to be doing better with the law as far as Oliver could tell, but before he shipped off this last time in 2004, he could tell she was on the fence between.

Seeing her now, in college and working at meaningful job…he was proud.

He closed her computer screen and kissed her forehead. "Night."

She mumbled something in her sleep before burying her head fathering into the textbook she was using as a pillow. Oliver chuckled and moved on. Through a few more room and down the hallway were the kid's bedrooms. He opened Katherine's door and walked in to re-tuck her in after she pushed the covers nearly to the floor. He smiled and kissed her forehead before leaving for Thomas's room. Unlike his sister, Thomas was huddled underneath his covers. Oliver pulled the covers back to make sure he could breathe before kissing him and leaving. When he got back into the hallway, he saw that Jane's light was on. He quietly pushed open the cracked door and smiled at what he saw.

Jane was sprawled face down on top on her covers, fully clothed, her pink phone clutched in her left hand. He gently lifted her into his arms with one hand and with the other, pulled back the fluffy white covers to lay her down in bed before covering her back up. He took her phone out of her hand, plugged it into its charger, and laid it on the nightstand. He kissed her cheek, turned off her lamp light, and walked back to the door.

"Daddy…" He heard her mumble. He turned around to see her head lift off her pillow.

"Go back to bed, baby."

She nodded sleepily. "I love you."

"Love you more," he whispered and walked away.

He was at the door of his and David's closed bedroom door, hand reaching for the knob. He closed his eyes and sighed heavily, hesitantly turning the knob. The light from the bedroom shone through the slightly open door. Quickly checking to make sure David was indeed asleep in the bed, Oliver began to undress, securing his badge and gun in his sock drawer.

David waited for Oliver to change into a pair of sweatpants and a white tee shirt before sitting up. "Hey."

Oliver slowly turned around from the dresser. "Thought you were asleep."

"Couldn't sleep." It was awkwardly silent between the two of them, David sitting up in bed and Oliver leaning against the dresser. "Uh, J-Jane said you had to work late?"

"No." Oliver shook his head. "Just didn't want to come home."

David nodded. "I wouldn't have wanted to see me either."

"Guess it's hard being you." Oliver said mockingly.

"Yeah, it is, Ollie." David sternly said.

"What? Living with the fact you cheated on the man you said you wanted to spend the rest of your life with?"

"I fucked up, alright!" David yelled. He moved to kneel on the bed, scootching closer to Oliver. "I made a God damn mistake and I will have to live with that the rest of my life!"

"Lower your fucking voice, you'll wake the kids." Oliver hissed.

David was at the edge of the bed and Oliver could see that genuine hurt in his eyes, the pain written all over his face. "But what I could never live with, is the fact that I hurt you….the fact that you hate me…the fact that I lost you." His breath hitched in his throat. "I will never forgive myself. I will never forget."

"Good." Oliver said that one word like he had this morning. He walked towards the windows and yanked a blanket from the lounge chair.

"Good? That's all you have to say-"

"No, David, it's not." Oliver threw the blanket down, marching towards where David kneeled on the bed. He got close enough to smell the hospital latex on his skin. "The fact that I'm even speaking to you and not out drinking, throwing punches, _fucking_ some other guy-"

"Then do it." David whispered. "Drink your weight in Scotch_, punch me,_ fuck some random guy like I did – anything. Just do something."

Oliver's hands clenched by his side, jaw trembling in rage. He finally growled after a tense moment of silence, "I could never hurt you the way you hurt me."

Oliver glimpsed a tear roll down David's cheek. When he spoke, his voice trembled. "I know you wouldn't…you're a good man. The hero of this story. You don't need to be saved." He chuckled sadly, a few more tears rolling down. By now he was hysteric. "But I did, Ollie, and you saved me! You did everything to keep me, keep everyone, safe. You saved me and I fucked everything up. Ollie I fucked up!"

Oliver tried not to look. He tried not to feel anything for him, but it was too hard. Oliver loved the man before him. Despite the cheating, Oliver loved him and hated seeing him suffer. It might have been weak of him, but Oliver pulled David into his arms and held him as he wept. David clutched Oliver's chest as Oliver smoothed his back.

Shocking them both, Oliver heard himself murmur, "I forgive you," into David's hair.

David jerked away, pushing against Oliver's chest. "What?"

"I said I forgive you," Oliver repeated, tucking away a stray piece of hair behind David's ear. "But you're going to have to earn my trust back."

Having said that, Oliver let go of David, picked up the blanket off the floor and walked out towards the couch.

Oliver didn't get much sleep on the couch. He thought he'd be smothered by Bear before he'd get some shut eye. It was around three in the morning when he gave up after receiving a call from an old friend at the FBI. He snuck inside his bedroom, grabbed his gym bag and stuffed it with a pair of work clothes, shoes, and shower gear. He'd get a chance to clean up in the office locker rooms, but for right now, he needed to get away from here. In the kitchen, he stuffed a pair of tennis shoes on, pulled a hoodie over his head, stuffed some files in his gym bag and headed out the door.

҉

**LAB**

Oliver stepped off the elevator to see that barely anyone was around. There were a few lab techs working overtime and cleaning test tubes, but no one Oliver knew was around. He was walking down the hall, heading towards in office, when he spotted lights in the computer room Adam was usually camped out in.

Unsurprisingly, Adam was camped out at his usual spot, typing madly away on the keyboard. He was so engrossed in what he was doing, that he didn't notice when Oliver deposited his bags by the door and snuck up behind him.

"What're you doin', Adam?" Oliver whispered, shooting a rubber band at Adam's neck from behind him.

"Holy-" Adam jumped a mile high, his hand shooting towards his neck to cover the sting. His other hand was fiercely clutching the armrest of his swivel chair.

"You know," Oliver put his hand on Adam's shoulder and quickly squeezed, "looking through a window may not be burglary, but you can still busted for intent."

"Yeah, you don't understand."

"Which part?" Oliver walked around the desk until he was in front of it, facing Adam. "Breeching the firewall at Dragga Financial? Remotely accessing a company's computer?"

"I got in!"

"I know that." Oliver nodded. "You know how I know that?"

"You saw me doing it?" Adam asked sarcastically.

"Don't give me lip. I got a courtesy call from an old in the FBI. Turns out the feds have been investigating Dragga financial for all sorts of shit. After some sweet talking on my part, she's gladly sharing their files with me only if you solemnly swear you're not up to no good. They weren't too happy to see an NYPD computer pissing in their sandbox. Don't be that weird kid who eats sand, Adam."

"Okay, that's great. But I know about you, about you rep. What're you going to do? Beat me half to death with a tire iron?"

Oliver kept his face tactfully blank as he held in his anger. His jaw clenched and was barely audible when he said, "You don't want to go there. Me leaving the Corps to come here had nothing to do with that. I don't give a rat's ass if you believe it or not, but that is the truth. I came to the NYPD for personal reason that I don't have to explain to you, Adam."

"Okay." Adam sighed, his eyes darting away. "I'm sorry. That was - that wasn't fair."

"Damn right it wasn't."

"Okay. It just…I shared the last moments of Sass Dumonde's life. I-I-I heard her music. I saw her joy. I-I…maybe even fell in love a little bit. And then three minutes later, it was-" Adam couldn't look at Oliver. He was stammering, his eyes were red and brimming with unshed tears for a woman he never knew. "It was just over."

Oliver nodded sympathetically. He leaned his elbows on top of the table. "When you cross paths with people like that, it's hard not to stop in your tracks."

"Sounds like you're speaking from experience."

"Yeah, I have." Oliver's eyes crinkled in the corner from a sad smile. "There was, uh, there was this little girl back in Afghanistan. She was around…ten years old, around my daughter's age at the time. We – my platoon – were on recon assignment. Routine stuff, just driving around the perimeter before heading out. I had two other Humvees with me with mine leading the way – four guys per vehicle. We were, uh, we were passing this small village that was situated near the side of the main road, perhaps twenty huts…houses, whatever you want to call them. Fucking shacks. But, uh, anyway, we were passing the village when we passed the little girl dancing around in the sand beside the road. She had a cassette tape on the ground she was listening to and was blowing these bubble while she dance. I was sitting in the passenger seat of the Humvee. She spotted me in my uniform and this – this big smile broke across her face. Huge smile, you know." Oliver began chuckling and Adam smiled. "She started waving, shouting, "Salaam," meaning "hello". I waved back, said "hello" and we drove. Our Humvees were spaced out, fifteen seconds between us. Fifteen seconds later, the little girl shouts "Salaam" to the second Humvee. Fifteen seconds after that, I don't hear her shout hello."

"W-Why not?" Adam asked. He had a feeling were this was going, but still wanted to know.

"Instead of her shouting "Salaam", I hear the crack of gunfire. Three quick bursts – One. Two. Three." Each number he said without pause, tapping his hand down on the steel table. "Our Humvee flies around like a bat out of hell to see this private, no more than nineteen, standing up in the open-top Humvee with his weapon drawn. I look to where he's pointing and see that little girl laying on her back in the sand, choking on her own blood." Oliver got quite for a few moments before looking back up at Adam, pushing off from the table. "I held that little girl in my arms as she died. I shared her last moments."

"Jesus Christ…" Adam whispered, covering his mouth. He was both shocked and appalled, but more over disgusted.

"Adam, believe me when I tell you, none of what you're doing now will bring her back. It'll only bring you down."

"What do I do now?"

"It's almost four in the morning. You pull up a cot and catch some shut eye before Mac catches your ass sleeping." Oliver flashed him a smile, patting the table. "You come back to this table when you're prepared to do the right thing.

Adam sighs, nodding. "Okay." He got up and headed to the door. His hand was on the knob when he turned his head. "Hey, Ollie?"

"Yeah?"

"The, uh, the private that shot the girl. Do you know why he did it?"

"None of us have gotten any real sleep for about two days, in and out of fire fights for the past week. He thought the religious lanyards around her waist was a weapon. Saw the glint of metal in the sun and reacted."

"What happened to him?"

"Arrested by the and taken back to the states. I testified against him. He was dishonorably discharged from the service." Oliver shrugged casually, but his muscles tensed.

"T-That's not what I heard…" Adam said hesitantly

Oliver didn't look up from the table to ask quietly, "What did you hear, Adam?"

"Th-That you nearly beat him to death."

Oliver tapped his finger in the metal table slowly before looking up and answering slowly, "Accidents can happen to anyone, Adam. His simply involved a tire iron."

"R-Right…" He turned the knob. "Night."

"Morning." Oliver managed to say before the annoying loud sound of Don's ringtone, Frank Sinatra's _New York, New York_, surprised him. He quickly answered to shut off the noise. "There a reason you're calling me at four thirty in the morning, Donny?"

"_We got a lead."_ He chuckled.

"How'd you know I was up?"

_"Called the lab to see if anyone was in; they said you checked in. You wanna act on this or not?"_

"Yeah, yeah, keep you panties on. I'll be at the station in, uh," she pushed up his hoodie's sleeve to check his watch, "maybe twenty minutes?"

_"Right. I'll fill you in when you get here."_

"Right. See ya."

҉

**SQUAD ROOM **

**POLICE PRECEINT **

"Please tell me this is useful." Oliver said as he strode into the squad room. He was surprised at how loud the room was for the early hour.

"Yee of little faith!" Don said from his desk. He looked up when he heard Oliver approach and began to smile. "Man…"

"What?" Oliver asked, confused.

Don gestured down to Oliver's sweatpants and white hoodie. "What's with the sweats?"

"You got something against being comfortable?"

Don laughed. "Just don't let Mac see you. You at least have your shield, ID and weapon?"

"Yeah, yeah." He waved Don off. "You said you had a lead?"

"Grand larceny report filed back in June. A silver BMW registered to Christopher Garcia." He handed the tablet to Oliver, the file already pulled up. "Claimed he lost a bag and a few personal items."

Oliver scrolled through the report. "No mention of the computer?"

"No, but her also happens to be an I.T. manager with four years under his belt from Dragga financial."

Oliver nodded. "He'd have all the expertise necessary for tracking a stolen computer."

"Checkout the company snapshot." Don reached over and moved a few things around on the screen to pull up Garcia's photo. It was a striking resemblance to the composite Sheldon's compute came up with. "He's got an office down on Wall Street. Supervisor says he usually works real early, comes in or just stays."

Oliver looked up and smiled. "Let's pay him a visit."

"In those clothes, hoodlum?" Don's eyebrow shot up in humor. Oliver flicked him off.

҉

**GARCIA'S WALL STREET OFFICE**

After quickly changing in the back on Don's car into the clothes he packed in his duffle bag – jeans and a black slim fit vest waistcoat over a white long sleeve dress shirt – they arrived at the office building. Given the early hour, unlike the police station, the building had scarcely anyone in it. There was a security officer in the lobby waiting and escorted them up to the office.

"There you go, officers," he said das he opened the door.

"Thanks, man." Oliver said as he entered. Don stood in the doorway and asked the guard a few questions as Oliver waked towards the cluttered desk.

"Don." Oliver called out, bending back the screen of the laptop. Adam's face, clear as day, was blown up to full digital enhancement.

"Look at this," Don said as he moved some mail off a notepad. He picked it up, read it, and gave it to Oliver. It read: Adam Ross. 4. 5885 Broadway 35th floor. Oliver quickly pulled his phone out of his pocket, dropping the notepad back on the desk.

"If Adam saw him, he saw Adam."

"Who're you calling? Mac?"

"Adam." Oliver pointed to the notepad. "Bag it."

҉

**DON'S CAR**

Don drove back to the crime lab with his sirens blaring. Oliver sat in the passenger seat, adjusting his bullet proof vest as he dialed Adam's number a third time.

"Still not getting anything?"Don asked.

"I don't know. He might be passed out in my office."

"Let's hope."

"Yeah-" Oliver heard his phone click – Adam picked up. He put it on speaker.

"_Hey, Ollie-"_

"Where are you, Adam?" Oliver asked urgently.

"_On the rooftop, heading to my car._" In the background, Oliver heard tires squealing, then the sound of a loud impact.

"Adam!" Oliver shouted, but the call cut off. "Faster, Don."

As Don hit the gas pedal, he picked up his radio. "Dispatch, this is Detective Don Flack. I need all available units for a 10-13 in progress. Upper level, New York Crime Lab parking garage."

҉

**UPPER LEVEL PARKING GARAGE**

Don turned the corner just in time. A battered Christopher Garcia stood over Adam with a gun pointed at him. The tiers of the car squealed as it made the turn, the siren deafening out Oliver's thoughts. Garcia turned towards them and fired this magazine at them.

As Oliver and Don returned fire, stepping out of the car and shielding themselves behind the doors, Adam quietly got up off the ground, a florescent light tube in hand. He stood behind Garcia in a batter's stand and swung, hitting Garcia in the neck. The tube shattered and Garcia went down.

Police cruisers began to arrive as Don and Oliver stood up. Officers were shouting for Garcia not to move. One officer retrieved the fallen gun and placed it inside and evidence bag. Three officers converged on Garcia – One pinned him down, one cuffed him, the other read him his rights.

"Nice chatting with you," Oliver heard Adam says to Garcia as they approached.

"For a lab geek, you sure know how to put up one hell of a fight," Oliver commented with a smile as he took in Adam's visible injuries – cut over right eyebrow, busted lip, cut on left cheekbone, cuts on his hands. There was no doubt Adam most likely had bruises on his chest and ribs.

҉

**CONFERENCE ROOM **

It was seven in the morning when the team came back to work and gathered in the conference room to be debriefed on this morning's events. Mac stood at the head of the table, Oliver to his right and Don to his left. Lindsey and Danny sat beside Oliver; Sheldon and Adam beside Don. Currently, Adam was holding a towel of ice to his lip and face.

"So, Garcia was on the take?" Sheldon asked once the briefing was over.

"According to my friend in the F.B.I," Oliver said, "he stole the software to Dragga Financial's online trading system and was brokering a sale to some contacts in Caracas."

"He had it all on his laptop." Lindsey said. "So when it was stolen, he panicked."

"Being an I.T guy, he tracked it to Sass Dumonde and killed her for it." Danny shrugged. "Case closed, Boss?"

Mac nodded. "Lindsey, Danny, I want you two to box up the evidence. Don, you'll take it where it needs to go. Everybody else, I'm sure you all have work to do." Everyone rose and began to leave the room, except Adam. He was trained in Mac's crosshairs. Oliver knew as soon as they were out of the conference room, Adam's career rested in the hands of Mac Taylor.

҉

**OLIVER & LINDSEY'S OFFICE**

Oliver was slowly swiveling in his chair behind his desk, looking at photos of his family on his computer via Jane's Facebook page. He knew it was wrong, copying down her account information, but as a father he wanted to be able to know what his daughter was putting out into the world. A father's only goal in life it protect his children, keep them safe weather of not they want to be.

When he had gotten done scanning through her news feed, posts and friends list, he moved onto her photos. There were several albums – Personal, Friends, School, Spring Break, Summer Break – but her Family album stuck out to him. On the cover was a photo of Oliver, David and Jane after they moved in together in the loft. They were unpacking, sitting on the floor, smiling at the sight of nine year old Jane popping out of a box. Curious, he clicked on it. Instantly, his screen was flooded with all the photos of the past years he's missed. He scrolled through them, smiling and laughing at the ridiculous things they were doing, but every now and then Jane would post a picture of Oliver. They were usually of him on leave where ever in the world he would be. David would fly them out to the nearest, safest place and they would spend that period of time being a family again.

Oliver's screen flashed. Alarmed, he scrolled back to the top. Jane had just uploaded three new pictures. One was of her looking extremely bored in class, the caption reading "If Mr. Hiltbrand will not stop speaking in monotone, I swear I will rage". The next two were taken during Oliver's 'Coming Home' party. The first was of Thomas sitting in between David and Oliver on the couch, patting his parents' heads. The second on stole Oliver's breath: Jane had captured the moment of when David saw Oliver, taking several photos and making a collage of them and in the center was of David and Oliver passionately kissing.

He would have sat back in his chair and admired the photo if Lindsey wasn't walking through the door. She came in with a smile and stripped off her white lab coat.

"Everything alright, Oliver? You sorta jumped when I came in."

"Yeah, no…no, you just surprised." Oliver quickly minimized the album page and brought up his computer files. "You, uh, you finished with the evidence?"

"Yep. Packaged, signed and on its way to lockup." She sat down in her chair. "What are you still doing here?"

"Finishing up some paperwork."

"Just don't let Mac catch you. You are, in fact, supposed to have a few hours off right now."

Oliver chuckled. "What am I going to do at home, Lindsey? My kids are at school, my fiancé-" Lindsey glanced around her computer to see Oliver looking at nowhere in particular. It didn't escape her that he had cut off mid-sentence. When Oliver noticed her staring, he quickly flashed her a smile meant to cease her curiosity. "Fiancé's working."

"Oh, what does she do?" Lindsey asked conversationally. Come to think of it, she wasn;t even sure she knew Oliver's fiancé's name.

Oliver checked his watch. "You know what, I'm gonna head out." He stood up, slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder. "Be back in a few hours."

"Oh, hey, before you go!" Lindsey shot up from her desk, suddenly looking nervous. "I almost forgot! Please, please, please tell me you have a copy of the case file handy?"

"Yeah, it's on my computer. Why?"

"Danny and I were having coffee in the break room. I was going over my notes and looking over the file when he sneezed and…." She made a face and mimed her hand going downhill.

"He spilled coffee on it." Oliver smiled.

"I nearly killed him. And Mac's going to kill me if I don't get him my finished notes. He's in a bad mood already after talking with Adam."

"I heard the yelling from in hear. How bad did Adam get it?"

"Pretty bad, but Mac's giving him three days unpaid suspension."

Oliver shrugged. "He got off light. This time."

"Tell me about it. Anyway, do you mind if I sneak a peek to finish my notes?"

"Go ahead." He gestured to his desk. "Mi equipo es el equipo."

Lindsey laughed. "Gracias."

"De nada," Oliver called over his shoulder as he left.

Still smiling, Lindsey grabbed her half-filed notepad and sat down at Oliver's desk. After rebooting the monitor, her smile grew bigger to see a picture of his three kids as his background. She wasn't too familiar with his computer organization, so she carefully scanned his taskbar at the bottom of the screen.

"Ah ha!" She muttered and clicked on what she thought was the icon for his case files. Instead, she was greeted by the images Jane had taken.

For the next few minutes, Lindsey sat in utter shock.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN:/ WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! Semi-graphic ADULT scene ahead. If you don't like man/man action, feel free to skip over it. If you do like it, let me know what you think in the reviews box.**

** Don't say I didn't warn you.**

**COHEN-KING APARTMENT**

**NIGHT**

"Jane, get in here! It's time for dinner!" Oliver called out from the kitchen.

He was standing in front of the grill on the island countertop, grilling five juicy steaks, while David sautéed the vegetables on the stove. Juggling her textbook reading and note taking, Kenzi helped Katherine prepare a salad. Thomas sat underneath the dinner table and played with this toy trucks, making all the sound effects to go with them. Luckily, David had turned on some smooth jazz to accompany the little engine noises.

"What are we having?" Jane yelled back.

"Steak, vegetables and salad!"

Jane came storming in with a disgusted look on her face. "Steak?"

"Yeah, finally found the best butcher in New York." Oliver flipped them over and added a pinch of seasoning. "They'll be ready in a few minutes-"

"You're feeding me steak?!"

Oliver looked up, confused. He took in her horrified look and everyone else's smiles. David and Kenzi at least had the decency to pretend to hide theirs. "What's wrong with steak?"

"I don't eat red meat, Dad!" Jane wined.

"Since when!" Oliver asked, backing away from the steaks.

"Since forever ago!" She stomped back towards her room and slammed the door behind her.

"Hey, no slamming doors, Jane!" Oliver called out to her. The room was silent a moment before Oliver turned to David. "When did that happen?"

David shrugged. "She likes to alternate with the seasons. Usually she won't eat meat near bikini season."

"Well, it's nearly winter. No reason for her to be wearing a swimsuit." Oliver said grumbled. David casually bumped hips with him. When Oliver looked up from the steaks, he saw David smiling at him.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't read into it. Jane is a teenage girl; their minds, like their clothes, change every few hours." He walked closer and tried to wrap his arms around Oliver's waist, but he flinched. Rejection fleeted across David's face.

"It's too soon, David." Oliver said quietly. Even though Kenzi had taken the salad to the table and Katherine along with her, he still didn't want his children to see their parents fight. "And you've had a few years to live with your mistake; I've only had a few days." Oliver shifted his attention back to the steaks. They were nearly finished; all he had to do was serve them. "I just need a little more time."

"The kids are getting suspicious, Oliver. Tommy asked me why you were sleeping on the couch. Even with you setting your alarm to get up before they can see you isn't good enough."

"What do you want me to do, David? Tell them that we're fighting? That I barely trust you? How the hell do you expect them to understand that?"

"I never said we should tell them, I'm just saying that you should stop sleeping on the couch." David slid the vegetables onto a serving dish, shut off the stove and walked away leaving Oliver to stand alone in the kitchen feeling like an ass.

When dinner was served, everything fell into routine. They would all hold hands and say grace before eating. Then, one by one, everyone would share a little something about their day. Oliver felt like this was important for them to know more about each other, help them understand what goes on it each other's life.

"Why can't I have a big steak, Papa?" Thomas asked David from his booster seat.

"Because you and Katherine split one."

"But I want a whole one."

"Only big boys get whole ones."

"I am a big boy!"

"No you're not." Katherine said. "You're a big crybaby."

"Katherine," Oliver warned, giving her a look.

"Am not!" Thomas shouted.

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"You both will be big crybabies after I spank you." Oliver warned. The kids stopped talking, but still tried to kick each other from under the seat. Oliver and David shared a fond smile for their kids and for the first time in a while, everything felt right.

҉

**LATER**

"The little guys are asleep," David walked into the bedroom, stripping down to his navy blue boxer briefs with the pink waistband and Hollister symbol on the left side. He chuckled. "Katie wouldn't let me leave till I kissed every single stuffed animal she had. I tried to say goodnight to Jane, but apparently I interrupted her Skypeing so she threw a pencil at me."

"Who was she Skypeing?" Oliver asked. He was already wearing his usual sleep clothes – heather grey tank top and indigo heather fleece lounge pants. When he turned to talk to David, he wasn't expecting what he saw – which wasn't much. Oliver hasn't seen David sleep in his underwear in all the years they've been together. Maybe he changed while Oliver was away. Oliver couldn't say; the last time he was in their bedroom, together, was the first night Oliver was home.

"A girlfriend of hers." David shrugged. "Avery, I think it was."

Oliver tried to mask his staring. Was David doing this on purpose? Oliver knew David was aware of his physique – he hit the gym maybe three times a week. David turned around and started pulling the extra pillows off the made bed. Oliver turned around, too, but not to help un-make the bed. Being near David and a bed was not what Oliver needed right now, no matter how much his body tried to ignore that. He could already feel his pants getting tighter around the waist. Oliver pulled off the blanket he had been using for the past couple of days off the lounge chair in the corner of the room.

"What are you doing?" David asked. He was about to climb into bed, on knee already on it, when he noticed Oliver preparing the lounge chair.

"Making my bed."

"So you're just moving from one couch to another?"

Oliver didn't look up from the chair when he asked, "Where did you think I was going to sleep when I said I would move off the couch and in here?"

"Oh I don't know, the bed, maybe?" David said with a hint of sarcasm. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I get it, okay? You're not ready, I screwed up, we both have issues, yada yada yada."

"This isn't funny, David." Oliver looked up at him.

"I know. And neither is you sleeping on a couch. Can you at least not be sickened to be around me and sleep in a comfortable place? Are you afraid my toe's going to touch you?"

Oliver rolled his eyes. "You're being ridiculous."

"So are you, pal." David got into bed and shut of his lamp light. The only light came from Oliver's bedside table on his side of the bed. Oliver sighed and walked over to the bed. David had his back turned towards Oliver and spoke softly. "Change your mind?"

"Need a pillow." Oliver said just as quietly. He picked up the pillow and turned off the light, but couldn't force himself to leave. Before the light went out, Oliver spotted something on David's back. In the darkness he could barely see it, but he knew what he saw. On David's right shoulder blade was a tattoo – On top were David and Oliver's names, underneath them were the kids' names and their birthdates in roman numerals. The ink still looked thick and dark, so he had it done recently.

Slowly, Oliver climbed into the bed. David curiously flipped over to see Oliver kneeling beside him. "Change your mind?" He asked again but meant something else. Their bodies were a breath apart as David looked up into Oliver's eyes.

"You could say that."

David watched Oliver, waiting to see what he'll do. Oliver's heart was pounding. He knew that he shouldn't be doing this, not so soon after finding out what he had done, but the tattoo had stirred something in him. David hated needles and for him to get a tattoo as meaningful as their family…Oliver didn't know what to think. His mind shut off and his body took over.

David's eyes drifted towards Oliver's lips and back to his eyes. Every inch of Oliver's body wound tight in anticipation. He wanted to feel David's hands on him, wanted his lips on his mouth. From the look in his eyes, he wanted it too.

Oliver leaned in closer, teasing him. He felt David's breath on his lips. His familiar scent filled Oliver's head, calming him down yet exciting him with passion.

"What are you doing?" David breathed.

"I don't know." Oliver breathed back. His hands drifted into David's hair as he spoke. He touched him gently and heard David's breath hitch. It sent a thrill through them both. There's little space between them. The tension is so strong that Oliver couldn't control himself. He leaned in slowly and brushed his lips to David's. David lays there. He seemed surprised. He doesn't move. He doesn't kiss back.

Embarrassment and guilt flood Oliver. He pulls back, breaking the kiss. "I-I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that."

"Don't be." David said, lifting his hand to stroke his fingers along one side of Oliver's slightly stubbled face, gently caressing his cheek. He leans his upper body up slightly to cover Oliver's lips with his.

Oliver sucks in a jagged breath, unable to hide how much the other man affects him. David's bottom lip brushes against his, kissing him softly, hesitantly at first. Each kiss is slow and tentative, wanting to know if Oliver wanted more.

Nipping Oliver's bottom lip with his teeth, David kisses him. Oliver leans into him and presses his mouth roughly against his. He felt David's tongue brush the seam of his lips, asking for them to part. He sweeps against them lightly once, twice, and Oliver opens his mouth. Brushing his tongue along the curves of his lover's mouth, David kisses him deeper. Oliver moans, leaning into him, not wanting to stop. Every part of his body is burning up, hyper-sensitive to David's touch.

Oliver presses closer to David, and trail his fingers up his back, feeling to curves of his toned body. David's hands respond by drifting lower to Oliver's waist and slipping under the hem of the lounge pants. When he touched the growing bulge, Oliver growled. He pushed David down into the pillows and straddled him, never breaking off their kiss. They've had hot kisses before, but this time it ran much deeper. Oliver had this need to possess David, show him who he belonged to. Primal, yes, but Oliver wasn't thinking straight.

David's fingers work at sliding up Oliver's shirt. When he pushes the fabric over his head, it falls to the floor to reveal a toned chest covered in scars and years of darkness. With every touch of David's finger's running over the contours of Oliver's body, the darkness slowly went away. David watched as Oliver slid his hand across his chest and trail his finger's down to his stomach. When his finger's hit the pink waistband, Oliver slowed his hand and glanced up at David.

"I love you," David breathed.

Raising his chest, David leans forward and presses a slow kiss to Oliver's neck. He closes his eyes and enjoys the sensation shooting through his body as David began to suck. He knew it would leave a mark, but he didn't care. Oliver's hands moved down David's chest, slowly testing how far he could go. When his palm passed over the hardened bulge in his boxer briefs, David moans in Oliver's ear. His hips pushed into his and they could feel how hard they were, how much they wanted this.

David's kisses trail down Oliver's neck, leaving a hot wake and a few bruises behind. Every time he presses a kiss to his skin, Oliver's hips bucked forward. They can't stay still. David's hands sweep over Oliver's back, tracing the scars over his muscles. Oliver shifts his weight on top of David so his hands would have more room. Watching him, Oliver touches the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling on side down. Breathing slow and deep, David watches. Oliver's eyes darken as he looks at him. His fingers gently pull down the other side until they're both at the same level. David nods and Oliver pulls off the boxers.

Oliver groans in anticipation. His eyes drink David in as though he could never get enough, before he lowered his head down. One of the things Oliver lover most about David was his hatred of body hair – he liked it on other men besides himself. Oliver greatly appreciated that as he kissed David's pelvis, teasing him, making him ache. By now, all rational thought has left their bodies. David was moaning beneath him, pressing himself against him. As Oliver's tongue flicked out, David moaned and tangled his hands in Oliver's short hair. His back arched and trusted hard, trying to make the teasing stop. Oliver's hands move to David's hips to steady them, a taunting smile on his lips. He leans down to press butterfly kisses on his hips. His kisses drift lower, burning a path of hot kisses to David's groin.

Oliver holds his shaft, hot and heavy, in his hand. His thumb brushes against the tip, making David's hips move on their own. Breathing heard, he says Oliver's name, begging him. Oliver's lips brush against his skin. He was about to lower his head, bringing David's member into his mouth, when a starling loud noise breaks the spell. David's cell phone is ringing, about to vibrate off the nightstand. They both stop moving; thinking that if they remained still, the noise will end.

It didn't. Instead, Oliver's cell phone joined in. The two men groan, annoyed, and shift to their prospective phones.

"What?" Oliver growled.

"_Sorry to ruin you night_," Danny said sarcastically, "_but we got a fresh one_."

Oliver closed his eyes and sighed. "Alright. Be right there. Text me the address."

Danny hung up. Oliver remained still as he listened to David's conversation. He couldn't understand much – too many medical terms.

"What's her ETA?" He listened a second more. "On my way."

Oliver pushed himself off the bed, walking around to pick up his fallen tank. "What was yours about?" David was about to open his mouth, but Oliver held up his hand. "English. Please."

"Woman is being brought in with severe head wounds. Looks like she was bludgeoned several times to the face and hands. Her husband was DOA." David began sifting through his drawers for a pair of jeans. Oliver tossed him the Mumford and Sons tee he like. "Hey, you know a detective by the name of Mac Taylor?"

Oliver stopped changing into his jeans to look at David. "Yeah, he's my boss. Why?"

David tossed him a Rolling Stones tee. "He's riding in with her."

҉

**HOSPITAL**

As soon as they walked through the E.R doors, David was rushed by several trauma nurses. They were all spouting out what seemed like Greek to Oliver, so he just stood by and searched for Mac.

"Where is she?" David finally managed to ask. A nurse squirted hand sanitizer into his hands and he lathered it on.

"Trauma room three." Another nurse answered as she handed him gloves.

"Where's a-" David closed his mouth when he saw the third nurse hand him a navy blue apron-looking thing that tied around his neck and waist. "Thank you, Michelle."

"Anytime, Doctor." She said shyly. Oliver looked over at David with his eyebrow raised.

David shook his head. He leaned over and kissed Oliver's cheek. "Gotta go."

Oliver nodded and watched him hurry off, sorrowful nurses trailing behind him. As he followed them with his eyes, he spotted Mac watching the woman through the glass. Oliver walked over to him.

"How is she?" Oliver asked, crossing his arms. The last time he saw David working was back in the dessert, so he counted this sad time as a sort of pleasure.

"Don't know yet," Mac sighed.

"What _do_ we know?"

"When I arrived, the EMTs were loading Mrs. Travers onto a gurney. Beaten to hell in her sleep, her husband dead in the bed. She couldn't talk, so I had her move her index finger up-and-down for yes and side-to-side for no." Oliver looked impressed. "No forced entry, so I we know whoever did this was already in the apartment or had a key. They had no guests and when I asked her if it was a member of her family, she pointed to a picture of her son, Billy."

"Jesus Christ…" Oliver muttered. He looked back Mrs. Travers through the window. It seemed like a miracle for her to still be alive after what happened. "We know where he is?"

"Don just arrested him."

"Lindsey, Danny and Sheldon are processing the scene. With her ID and whatever they find, we just may not need a confession."

"Let's hope you're right." When he turned to Oliver, he pointed to his neck. "I take it you forgave him?"

Oliver hand automatically came up and rubbed his neck, as if he could remove the hickey David had left. He chuckled uncomfortably. "I-I was just.."

"Mending fences?" A ghost of a smile appeared on Mac's lips.

"Something like that." Oliver smiled a little. "Do I forgive him? Yes. Do I trust him like I used to…?"

It was silent for a few moments before Mac nodded towards David who was now incubating Mrs. Travers. "That him?"

"Yep." He sighed, rolling back on his heels. "Doctor David King in his natural element. Behold."

Mac gave a single chuckle before turning around to sit down on one of the hard plastic chairs. "Not bad."

Oliver turned around and leaned against the window. "What do you need me to do?"

"Get this son of a bitch to confess."

҉

**POLICE PRECEINT**

**INTERRIGATION ROOM #1**

"I don't believe you." Billy said. He had his arms resting on the cold steel of the table, hands cuffed, his head hanging, eyes not making contact. Oliver sat across from him with his memo pad and a pen. He put on a coffee leather jacket to cover his gun holster and badge.

"Believe it, kid. Your own mother identified you."

"That's not possible," he shook his head.

"Why?" He lowered his voice. "Because you thought she was dead? You left no witnesses?"

"Because I didn't do anything!" He said adamantly. Suddenly, and idea hit him. "No…you're lying. You're lying. She didn't-"

"I wish to God I was lying. Being a soldier before a detective gives you the sense that you've seen it all, seen the worst that people can do to each other. But I got to tell you, Billy, this is as bad as it gets."

Billy stared at him for a few moments before looking away again. "My father, he's dead? I mean, when you got there, he was already dead?" Oliver gave a single nod and he shook his head. "I don't understand. Why would she do this to me?"

"Do this to you?" Oliver got mad. "You're the one you beat her within an inch of her life and you're wondering how could she do this to you?"

"I wasn't even at the house! I haven't been home in over a month." He sighed. "Where is she? Can-can I see her?"

"Billy, I'd love you watch your Lifetime special, but I want to know why you did it."

"I. Love. My. Parents." Billy leaned in across the table, staring Oliver right in the eyes. "I didn't do this."

"Okay," Oliver sighed, frustrated. "Where were you today?"

"I already told you-"

"So tell me again. Start from the beginning." Oliver pointed towards the wall to his left. "Your girlfriend, Jules, is next door. My friend is interviewing her right now. If your stories don't add up…."

Billy sighed. "We went to a vintage store on St. Marx. There was going to be a Risky Business party tonight and I want a grey jacket like Tom Cruise had on."

"Where'd you go after the store?"

"Back to Jules' dorm room. We hung out there until around five or something. I had to leave a little after to that to go pick stuff up for the party."

"What stuff?"

"Alcohol. Tons, and tons of alcohol."

"Where'd you get it?"

"Corner of Bleeker and West Third."

"Anyone else go?"

"No, just me and Jules."

"After that?"

Billy sighed, scrubbing his face. "To the frat house to drop off the alcohol. That was around seven, maybe a little later."

"Jules go with you?"

"No. Like I said, we split up after that."

Oliver leaned back in his chair. "So from about eight to eleven, I'm just supposed to take your word for it that you were in your room. And the only person that can account for you whereabouts earlier that day is your girlfriend." Oliver shook his head and bean to write in his memo pad.

"What are you doing?" Billy asked as he tried to peak over.

"Eyes on your own paper, Billy." Oliver looked up and pointed his pen at Billy. "Because you're not man enough at admit what you did, I have to do math. See what you've driven me too?" Looking back down at his paper, Oliver muttered, "Hate math."

On the top of his paper he put '8-11 p.m.' and a dash underneath it. As he wrote down the numbers, he talked to Billy. "Half hour by train to get to your parents' place. Twenty-five minutes to stand outside, waiting for your balls to unshrivel before you kill them. Another forty minutes inside to do the deed and change your clothes. Ten minutes to puke, because, honestly, we both know you couldn't stomach what you did. Five minutes to find a place to ditch the bloody clothes. Another half hour to travel to your room."

With all the number lined up under the heading, Oliver groaned as he added them up. "Five, ten, carry you one…140 minutes. Roughly that's, what, two hours and twenty minutes?" He leaned forward on the table. "Plenty of time for you to commit the murder and get back to your room, maybe even stop for a snack."

"You don't know shit." Billy glared.

"You have between now and trial to fabricate a witness who claims to have seen you during that time."

҉

**AUTOPSY**

"So this M.E," Oliver was saying as he and Sheldon made their way to the morgue, "what's he like?"

"Who, Sid?" Sheldon chuckled. "He's an off-the-charts genius who traded in a career as a chef to become medical examiner."

"Don't know if I could trade food for death," Oliver shook his head.

"Just watch out - he has a habit of over talking and over sharing. Despite his eccentricities, Sid is extremely perceptive and sincerely cares about his coworkers." Sheldon smiled. "Even invited Mac to his family's Thanksgiving so Mac would not have to spend the holiday alone."

Oliver chuckled. "Don't know if I could do that either."

"Talk to me, Sid," Sheldon called out as he and Oliver walked towards the body of Mr. Travers. Sid had his back to them as he spoke, watching a 3D replica of the deceased skull spin.

"The human skull is composed of one of the most durable substances found in nature. It takes approximately one ton to reduce the diameter of the skull by one centimeter." He turned around and looked mournfully at the dead body on his table. "Unfortunately for Walter Travers, when you get whacked in the head multiple times with a blunt-force object, that doesn't mean a whole lot."

"Can you tell us anything about the nature of the blunt force object?" Oliver asked. Hearing a strange voice, Sid looked up, confused, and found Oliver standing at the foot of the slab with his arms crossed over his half-zipped leather jacket. Looking Oliver over once, Sid made an approving face and nodded his head.

"Doctor?" Oliver asked.

"Oh, sorry," he chuckled. "I guess I wasn't expecting you to look like…you!"

Oliver looked confused. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, no, nothing bad! I-It's just there's a lot of gossip-" he held his hands up, "-not that I listen to it or anything. But you have a lot of the female techs…"

Sheldon started to laugh. "The girls are talkn' about him. _Him_?"

"They do know I'm engaged, right?" Oliver asked with a smile.

"Oh, believe you me, that has not stopped a certain DNA analyst from assigning herself to all of your cases."

Oliver's jaw dropped and Sheldon began to laugh harder, bracing himself on the exam table. "Excuse me?"

Sid shrugged. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger."

Oliver shook his head and stuck out his hand. "Oliver Cohen."

"Sid Hammerback." They shook hands and he went back to his 3D scan. "You see these two horizontal marks?" He pointed to the victim's forehead. "They're puncture wounds."

"They speak to the nature of the weapon?" Sheldon asked.

"Oh yeah! I mean, possibly. L-Let's just take a look." He shut off his scanner and moved to stand behind the victim. With his fingers, Sid slid back the forehead's skin to reveal a pink and while skull underneath. He looked up at Oliver as he did it. "So I hear you were in the Middle East for the past seven years. You must have been busy."

"That would be classified, Doctor." Oliver said with all seriousness, but his eyes shown mockingly.

Sid chuckled. "I put time of death at somewhere between nine and ten base on liver temp."

"He was probably knocked unconscious and bled out immediately," Sheldon theorized, "which would put the attack around the same time."

"Ah! See here?" He reported his findings as Sheldon hovered over the wound with a magnifying glass.

Oliver looked over to the two, small horizontal indentations in the skull. "Appear to be equal in size, on in line with the other." Oliver looked up at Sheldon. "Hammer? Crowbar, maybe?"

"Or a tire iron?" Sheldon asked hesitantly. "Know anything about those?"

Oblivious to the tension and still looking down at the wound, Sid asked absentmindedly, "Yes, I heard you were quite skilled with one."

Oliver stared blankly at Sheldon as he worked to get his anger under control. When Sid looked up and saw what was happening, he knew he had said the absolute wrong thing. Oliver turned his attention to him. "These the only puncture wounds, Doc?"

"Yeah. And I-I've seen Grace Travers' hospital records. She suffered no punctures. "

"Odds are against Billy dropping one object and stabbing with another," Oliver said.

"Well," Sid unhooked his glasses from his face and moved them to his neck, "more than likely, the weapon was used as a blunt force-object but contained two identical horizontal edges at the end."

"Basically, we're looking for something with a claw on the end?" Oliver simplified.

Sid mulled it over for a moment before nodding. "Exactly."

Oliver tapped his file on the edge of the table. "Good." Without looking over at Sheldon, he left. Once he was safely out of earshot, Sid turned to Sheldon and asked,

"What in the world was that?"

Sheldon sighed and shook his head. "Nevermind."

"Don't give me that, Sheldon. It looked like he was about to deck you in my autopsy. What happened in the space of two seconds."

"The crack about the tire iron, about he was use of one."

Sid chuckled. "Wh-Wy would he be offended. It's just a silly," Sheldon started shaking his head, "…rumor."

"Not this time, Sid." Sheldon said and walked away.

"Oh my," Sid muttered, looking back down at Mr. Travers.

҉

**CSI BUILDING**

**DAY**

"And the kids are ready – food, clothes, school bags?" Oliver was asking Kenzi over the phone. He was leaning against a wall in one of the back corridors, looking out the window.

"Yes, Ollie." She sighed. Oliver could practically hear the eye roll. He liked knowing that this is where Jane gets it. "Hey, where did you and Davey run off to last night? By the sounds of it, you two were having a pretty nice time."

Oliver chuckled. "Not that it's any of your business, but yes, we were have a nice time. That is until we both got called in on the same case."

"Wow. Really? Huh, what are the odds?"

"New York City, baby, bound to happen sometime." Spotting Mac walk through the door farther down the corridor, Oliver signaled for him to wait up. "Look, Kenzi, I've got to go. Tell the kids I love 'em." He hung up and jogged over to Mac. "Hey, Mac! Any word on the Mrs.s?"

"She's not conscious yet, Doctor K-" He smiled slightly. "David informed me that she'll pull through. It's nothing short of a miracle."

"Sounds like him." Oliver smiled as he pushed open the door that lead them into the main lobby.

They were walking past Oliver's office when Mac said, "I've never seen anyone take a beating like that and survive."

"Don't think I'd want to after that," Oliver answered honestly. "Knowing one of my kids kill David and tried to kill me?" To lighten the mood, he jokeingly said, "Although, if that ever does happen, it was Jane."

Mac cracked a smile. "Check into his alibi?"

"He essentially has no was with his girlfriend most of the day, and that'll be ripped apart on cross. He claims he was in his room alone between eight and eleven p.m."

"Sid puts the attack between nine and ten p.m." Mac said as they stopped in front of his office. "Pretty convenient for him to claim that he was alone and had plenty of time for him to get back in time for the party."

"Yeah, but it'd be nice to have motive." He shrugged. "Guess the I.D. by his mother should carry a lot of weight."

"We'll need more."

Oliver began to tap on his file as he thought. "It'll take a while to analyze all the evidence from the scene, but it's hard to believe he didn't leave something behind. I hope to hell he pleads guilty and doesn't make his mom take the stand, having to I.D. his again. In court."

Before Mac could say anything else, Don hops off the elevator yelling, "Hey, guys! We got a confession." As he walked closer he said, "But not from Billy Travers. Guy over at Rikers says his cell make confessed to killing a couple in their sleep last night."

Oliver groaned, scrubbing the back of his neck. "The fuck, Don. Thought I was going home tonight."

҉

MAC'S OFFICE

Don was giving them the briefing, pointing to two mug shots on Mac's big screen. Mac sat in his chair, Oliver on the couch, and Don standing in the open space between them.

"The guy on the left is Owen Hicks." Don pointed to a blonde man with a beefy face. "He;s over at Riker awaiting trial for rob one. Now he says he got a new cell make last night who confessed to killing a couple over in Jamaica Esates."

"Burg two, burg three, criminal trespassing, at least four drug arrests." Oliver read off Hicks' rap sheet. "Steals from the rich to feed his poor drug habit. He's looking at serious time on his current charge."

"What does he want?" Mac asked.

"What they all want." Don turned to Mac. "A free pass." He turned back to the screen and pointed at the man with the cone-shaped head. "The guy on the right is Manny Ravarra. He's doing life upstate at Fishkill for selling drugs at schools. He even recruited a couple twelve-year-olds to run a few corners for him."

"Motherfu-" Oliver muttered under his breath. He turned to Don. "What's he doing at Rikers?"

"Two weeks ago, Ravarra escaped. He was picked up last night, trying to boost a car on Jamaica Avenue."

"They run him for warrants, see he's an escaped convict, and then send him to Rikers until he gets transferred back upstate." Mac informed Oliver on the process.

"And that's when he meets Owen Hicks?" Oliver asked, putting everything together in his memo pad. "I find it hard to believe he just casually admit to a double homicide."

"Grace Travers looked me in the eye and I.D.'d her killer." Mac said firmly. He turned to Don. "Take a ride over to Rikers. Bring Danny. See if this guy's for real."

Don left with a nod. Oliver thought in silence for a moment, tapping his pad on the arm rest of the couch.

҉

**CORRIDOR**

He's been pouring over the paperwork for over an hour now and Oliver still had nothing new without the results from the crime scene. Dollar in hand, he walked down the back corridor, waving to a few techs, on his way to the vending machine. He stuck his dollar in and pressed B5. When nothing happened, Oliver tapped his hand on the glass. After a few more tries, he slapped the side of the machine more forcefully with his hand.

"It's a very delicate piece of machinery," a light voice said from behind him. He turned around to see the Lindsey Messer smiling at his misfortune.

"Delicate, huh?"

"Delicate. Require a woman's touch." She walked forward and kicked the bottom right corner with the tip of her shoe. Two packages of Sour Patch Kids tumbled into the chute.

Oliver chuckled as he bent down to retrieve them. "Been here a while?"

She shrugged. "Danny taught me."

"'Course he did. Your prize, madam." he extended the second package towards her, bowing at the waist.

"Thank you, good sir." She played along, curtsying.

"So how've you been, Messer?" Oliver asked as he leaned against the machine as he tore open his candy. "This place can get so crazy, haven't seen you in a while."

"You've been here less than a week. This is nothing."

Oliver laughed. "Guess you're right. Like I said, how've you been? Lucy good?"

"Lucy is perfect," Lindsey beamed. "Driving us crazy, but otherwise perfect."

"Excellent. Excellent." Oliver nodded his head. "Oh! My daughter, Jane, wanted me to ask if you ever needed a babysitter, to give her a call. Apparently, while I was away, she started up a small babysitting business. Mainly it's kids around our block, but-"

"No, no," Lindsey smiled. "I'd be nice. Danny and I've been having trouble finding a decent sitter. He wants to run background checks before hiring."

Oliver chuckled. "Can't blame him." In their silence, he noticed Lindsey's dropped smile and foot shifting. He started to get the feeling that she was uncomfortable with something. "Everything alright, Messer?"

"Yeah, um, it's just…"

"Spit it out, you're starting to freak me out." Oliver smiled jokingly.

"You've been here, what, nearly a week? Already you're a great friend – Danny wants you to come over to have a few beers and watch the game, your daughter babysitting Lucy. We're friends, right?"

"I'd like to think so, yeah." Oliver nodded, confused as to where she was going with this.

"So, as friends, if you ever felt the need to, uh, g-get something off your chest, you know you could come to me, right?"

"Yeah – what's this all about?" Oliver pushed off the machine and stepped closer to Lindsey. He put the back of his hand on her forehead. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yeah, I feel fine. Just, uh…" She moved his hand away, smiling nervously. She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and talked relatively fast as she blew out. "Look, I accept you, okay. You're a terrific guy, a strong and caring man who has already won over the crime lab in just a few days. You have friends here, Oliver. You may not know us well, but we would like to know you, but we don't want you to hide who you are." She paused, looking him in the eye. "Or who you love. You've built yourself a beautiful family. We'd like to be a part of it, if you let us.

"I-I don't know what you're saying to me right now…" Oliver muttered. He had a vague, gut wrenching feeling that she knew about him, but he needed to hear the words come from her mouth before he did anything else.

"I think you do, Oliver," she said quietly.

"Say it."

"You're gay." She took a step closer and took his hand, squeezing it. "And that changes nothing."

Oliver let out a gush of air he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Suddenly, he pulled on their hands until she was in his arms. He hugged her close and asked, "How'd you know?"

When they pulled back, she smiled. "It's not exactly like you air it out in public, if that's what you're worried about. When I was looking at the Garcia case file on your computer, Jane's Facebook was still pulled up on your screen."

"God dammit…" he sighed. His face flushed with embarrassment. "You saw that?"

"I went through the whole album….sorry." She admitted sheepishly. "Couldn't stop myself after seeing you so happy."

Oliver waited a few awkward moments before asking, "You didn't tell Danny, did you?"

"We might be married and tell each other everything, but this wasn't mine to tell." She ate the last few sour patch kids in her bag. "When you're ready to tell the others, I'll be right there with you."

"You're a good friend, Lindsey Messer." Oliver smiled at her.

"Damn right I am." She leveled a finger at him and gave him a mock glare. "I expect a front row seat at the wedding."

"Fine," Oliver laughed. His phone began to play an old Italian song in his pocket. As he reached for it, he told Lindsey, "It's your husband."

"Cute," she smiled. As she was walking backwards towards the doors, she said, "I'm going back to work, Adam and I are working on blood spatter. Tell him I said hey."

"Will do." He said before he opened the phone. "Talk to me Danny. What's the convict saying?"

_"He baited us for a bit, but he did confess. Says the crack-head cellmate was right."_

"How so?"

_"Ravarra says that the eyewitness-"_

"Mrs. Travers."

"_-is wrong and that he killed the couple."_

"Let's say, hypothetically, that he is telling the truth, that Mrs. Travers is wrong, why is he confessing?"

"_He's already doing life upstate, he just escaped. He figured he had nothing else to loose. Doesn't care anymore."_

"Alright. Alright." Oliver sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "How and why did he do it? If his story matches up to the evidence, Billy Travers is off the hook."

"_Gimme a sec…"_ Danny muttered. On the other side of the line, Oliver could hear him asking Don for his notepad. _"Alright, here we go."_ He cleared his throat. _"He was on the run, figured he could make out with some jewelry. Trade it in for cash. Mr. Travers woke up while Ravarra was going through the drawers. Mrs. Travers wouldn't stop screaming. Since he wasn't wearing anything to cover his face, he "had to do what he had to do"." _Danny shut the notepad and handed it back to Don. _"The rest we know – he got pinched for boosting a car on his way out of town and got thrown in Rikers."_

"You buy it?"

"_Not for a minute. None of the drawers were open, not even rifled through. So what was he stealing? Not to mention these people were brutally beaten, which suggests that this was personal, not that he was trying to keep them from I.D.'ing him."_

"Did you ask him what he killed them with?"

"_Yeah, he knew we were testing him. Before he left, he told us to look in the sewer on 104__th__ Street and Lefferts Boulevard. Don and I are on our way there now."_

"Alright. I'll let Mac know – Oh, Lindsey wanted me to tell you 'hey' for her."

Danny laughed. "_If I tell you to kiss her for me, would you?"_

"Kiss your own wife, Messer." Oliver ended the call with a smile. He poured the remaining sugar from the candy bag into his mouth as he walked back to Mac's office.

҉

**MAC'S OFFICE**

Oliver sat on the couch as he finished relaying Danny's findings to Mac, who sat behind his desk not looking happy.

"And they're on their way to the sewer?"

Oliver nodded. "Should be there now. Any word on Mrs. Travers? Without the evidence, Mrs. Travers is the only one who can tell us which one is lying."

"I was about to place a call to the hospital."

"I'll save you the trouble." Oliver said as he dug around in his pocket for his cell. HE hit 'one' on his speed-dial and waited through the rings.

_"Hey, Ollie, Can't talk right now."_

"I know, you're at work. So am I. I need to talk to you about Grace Travers."

_"You know I can't give you anything medically-"_

"Not what I'm looking for, Doc. Is she awake?"

_"Yeah, she's awake. She's heavily sedated, though. I don't want to bring her into full reality just yet."_

"Is she able to talk?"

_"On the sedative, barely anything coherent."_

"Is there any chance you could dial it down a bit, not enough to cause her any pain, but to give her memory a little boost."

_"She's been through a major trauma, Oliver. Everything she will remember would cause her pain."_

Oliver sighed. "Look, I know she's been through a major trauma, but would it be alright if Detective Taylor and I came by to see her? We won't be long. I know she needs her rest." It was silent on the other end. "David?"

_"Give her an hour for the sedatives to wear off just enough for an actual conversation. I don't know how much help she'll be, but you can try."_

"Great. Great. I appreciate it, David. Thank you."

_"On the record, I'm doing this as a doctor and it's my professionally opinion that it would be better for her if you guys caught this sick bastard. Soon. I'm not doing this as your fiancé."_

"I know." Oliver smiled. "Again. Thank you." He hung up and put his phone away. "We're in. We just have to give her an hour or so."

"Good, because you'll want to listen to this." Lindsey said as she and Sheldon walked in to the office. Mac stood up as they stopped in front of his desk.

"Please tell me you have something that puts Billy Travers at the crime scene." Mac asked.

"Nothing," Lindsey shook her head.

"Nothing on my end, either." Sheldon said.

Lindsey gave her findings first. "All the shoe impressions from the scene we either from the first officers or the EMTs. The blood samples have been sent to DNA, but we were able to type them. None of them were a match to Billy Travers."

Sheldon handed the red file he was holding to Mac. "The front door was defiantly jimmied open."

"The first officers told me there was no sign of forced entry." Mac said. He put the file down on his desk.

"The majority of the damage was done to the inside of the lock, most likely from a crowbar."

"Consistent with the puncture wounds Sid found on Billy's father." Oliver added from the couch. He walked over to join the group, standing on the other side of Lindsey, away from Sheldon. "Billy had a key to his parent' house."

"He could have used a key then intentionally damaged the lock to make it look like a break-in." Mac theorized. "What else?"

Sheldon leaned down and tapped on the red file. Mac picked it up and read it as Sheldon told him what it was. "I was able to extract microbial DNA from the soil that was disturbed next to the front door, but again, not a match to the dirt found on Bill Travers' shoes."

"All we have is the I.D right now, Mac." Oliver said. "Either he was extremely careful, or…"

"Or he didn't do this," Mac sighed as he sat back down. They waited a moment for him to get his thoughts together. "At the scene, I thought that might be the only chance to talk to her. When they said there was no forced entry, that prompted me to show her a photo of her family."

"She was responsive, right?" Lindsey asked.

"She was. She looked me in the eye and understood me." Mac shook his head. "Maybe I pushed too hard in the moment."

Oliver's pocket buzzed with a text message from Danny. He pulled it out and silently read over. Two sentences, eight words: _Ravarra told the truth. Found possible murder weapon._

҉

**HOSPITAL**

The ride in the elevator was a long and quiet ride. Only the sound of crappy, static elevator music filled the silence between Mac and Oliver. They were both comfortable with it, but it was the other two passengers who were slightly uncomfortable.

The elevator dinged and stopped, signaling they've arrived at their floor – Neurology. Mac stepped off and headed to the giant circle counter of nurses in the middle of the floor. Flanking either side is cold, plastic waiting chair and steel doors prohibiting further access. When Oliver stepped off, he was greeted by a squeal and a small body dressed in salmon scrubs and black pigtails wrap around him.

"David, what're you doing here?!" The girl asked excitedly. When she pulled back, he was surprised to see it was his sister.

"I was about to ask you the same thing. I thought you worked with David?"

"Sometimes," she shrugged. "Mainly I stick to NICU and the Neo-natal Maternity squad."

"Let me look at you." Oliver smiled. He took her hands and stepped back. She had white tennis shoes, salmon scrubs with two different pens and a notepad sticking of of her breast pocket. "You look…"

"Professional?" She said hopefully.

"That and salmon isn't really your color."

Kenzi rolled her eyes. "I know, right. But the head of Team Vagina insists that this is their department's scrub color."

Oliver laughed again as Mac walked up. "Mac, I'd like you to meet my baby sister, Kenzi. Kenzi, this is Detective Mac Taylor."

"Nice you meet you," Mac said politely, shaking her hand. "I've heard almost nothing about you."

"Can't say I'm surprised," Kenzi none-too-gently slapped Oliver's abdomen with the back of her hand. "Ollie here's not what we call a share-er."

"Not totally true. I share…"

"What, food?"

Mac chuckled. "So you work with David?"

Kenzi looked up at Oliver with a perplexed look. Oliver understood what it meant and shook his head. "He figured it out."

"No, no, it's good he knows. You never tell anyone." She turned back to Mac with a smile. "I work with him occasionally, but only when there's a baby who has issues with its head or brain. Other than that, I stick to my department."

"Are you a nurse, a doctor…?"

"Nurse, technically." She shrugged slightly. "Still in school, but I get twice the training and experience here."

Oliver cleared his throat. "Not that this hasn't been fun, really…"

"Right, you didn't come here to chat. Work." She clapped her hands together and rubbed. "Alrighty then, I'll see you at home." She stood up on her tip-toes and pecked his cheek. She did the same to Mac. "Nice to finally meet you, Detective Taylor."

"Please, call me Mac."

"Mac it is," she smiled and walked off towards the elevator.

Oliver waited till the doors had closed before turning to Mac. "What room?"

"Ten-oh-five." He gestured towards the metal doors on the left and walked through them, the nurse nodded to them as they passed. About a minute later after navigating through the maze-like hallways, they arrived at the room. Mac took a step forward and knocked on the door. "Mrs. Travers?" The badly beaten woman in the bed slowly turned her head to face the door. "I'm detective Mac Taylor. Do you mind if I talk to you for a moment?"

"Come closer," Mrs. Travers said softly. The two men walked in, Mac walked farther towards the bed and Oliver hanging back a little. "What did you say your name was?"

"Mac Taylor." He repeated. He pointed towards the foot of the bed where Oliver stood. "This is Detective Liver Cohen. We work for the New York Crime Lab. I came to your house last night after you called 9-1-1."

"I called 9-1-1?"

"Yeah," Mac nodded. "Miraculously, you-you did. Somehow you found the strength to pick up the phone."

"It saved your life." Oliver said.

"They told me my husband is dead." She said even softer. When Mac nodded, she closed her eyes.

"Mrs. Travers, do you remember what happened last night?" Oliver prompted her.

"No." She opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling above her. "I just remember waking up in this room."

"I realize this is hard," Mac said comfortingly, "but can you tell me why your son would have done this?"

She turned to look at him, seeing is he was serious. "Billy?"

"Yes."

"You think Billy did this to me?"

"Last night, you identified your son to me. I showed you a photograph and you indicated that he had done this."

"No," she began to shake her head; her heart monitor began to beat faster. "No, I did no such thing. No, Billy didn't do this to me. He would never do anything to hurt me, or his father."

"Mrs. Travers, I know you've been through a lot-"

"Who are you?" Mrs. Travers cut across Oliver.

Oliver shot a confused glance at Mac before answering. "My name is Oliver Cohen."

"Why did you come here? To tell me that my son did this to me? To tell me these lies?"

"We don't want to upset you-" Mac tried to calm her down, but she cut across him, too.

"No, you listen to me! You leave Billy alone." Don you understand me? He would never do this! Now go. Both of you…get out!" As Oliver and Mac walked out the door, she yelled after them, "Leave my family alone!"

Oliver sighed, closing the door behind them. "Well…that went well. Think she's trying to protect him?"

"I don't see why she would." As they were walking down the hall, Mac said, "I don't get it – she'd nearly killed by her son, who she later I.D.'s, but now won't believe that he's responsible."

"Maybe her instincts as a mother override those of reason?" Oliver offered, not really knowing what he was talking about.

"What about you?" Mac asked. "If you of your kids did something like this, would you believe that they didn't do it."

"First of all, I'd kill them myself if they ever did. Second, my kids would never do anything like this. Okay, maybe kill a frog once in a while, but nearly kill a person? No. And third…I don't know what to think anymore, knowing what people are capable of."

"Exactly. Sometimes I wish other people could see that too."

"I wouldn't wish that on anybody, Mac." Oliver stopped and held out his arm to stop Mac. "Hold up. I'm getting a call from David." He flipped it open.

_"Oliver, please tell me you're still in the hospital."_

"Yeah, we are. Just left Mrs. Travers room."

_"Good! Good. I need you and Mac to come to come down to the observation room. Have one of the nurses show you."_

-Click-

"What's that look for?' Mac asked as Oliver put away his cell.

"David wants to see us in the observation room, wherever that is."

"Do you know why?"

"No, but he sounded excited."

҉

**OBSERVATION ROOM**

One floor up and a few hallways later, a haggish old nurse guided them to the door they needed. Inside, there were three rows of chairs, each row five seats deeps, all facing a giant window that took up the whole wall. They walked closer to the window and looked below to see David sitting in a chair, hooked up to wires with a band around his head, checking the monitor in front of him after each time he looks at a picture. There was a screen in the observation room where Mac and Oliver were that showed the reading that David got on his screen.

Oliver tapped on the window. "David!"

"You don't have to yell, I can hear you perfectly." David said without taking his eyes off the pictures.

Mac gave Oliver a look. Oliver gave him a look back that said 'how was I supposed to know?'. When David looked up at Oliver, the steady green lines on the screen switched to yellow fluctuating lines.

"Ah, see that!" David pointed out. "Familiar face, recognition. Neurons coursing through my synapses."

"That's what this machine measures?" Mac asked.

"Basically, yeah."

"And this is why you called us here?" Oliver asked.

"No, this is the experiment will explain what I'm about to say." He held up the stack of photos. "Random photos of people I don't know mixed with one I do know." He turned back to the screen with the steady green lines and kept flipping through the photos as he spoke. "See? Very little activity. No emotional connection." The next photo he flipped to, the monitor beeped and the yellow line re-appeared.

"Off the charts. Looks like you found a connection." Mac said.

David held up the photo of a little Asian girl with thick, black rimmed glasses too big for her face and chuckled. "Favorite patient. Be up in a minute."

As David laid the photos down and disconnected himself from the machine, Mac and Oliver took a seat and waited. It was about a minute later when David walked into the room wearing his navy blue scrubs, white lab coat, and a file in his hands. He extended it to Mac.

"Grace Travers' hospital records. She's experiencing retrograde amnesia." David took a seat in a chair a row a head of the two. "It's very common with victims of traumatic brain injury."

"Explains why she doesn't remember I.D'ing her son." Oliver said, looking over Mac's shoulder as he read the file.

"Right," David nodded.

"But is the identification reliable?" Mac asked, handing the file to Oliver.

David hesitated. "That's hard to say. Her MRIs show that most of the damage occurred to the front-left temporal lobe. There is a significant amount of bleeding."

"Front-left controls language, speech and memory." Mac said.

David nodded, impressed. Among other things, yes."

"So you think it's possible that her memory of the even at the time she made the I.D. could've been affected?" Oliver asked, shutting the file.

"Very possible." David took the file back. "She suffered extreme brain damage."

"But she was able to understand and obey commands." Mac sighed. "I was there. Same part of the brain, no?"

David sighed. "Same area, but the effects are different. Language and comprehension can remain intact while memory is abolished."

"Doctor King, I showed her a photograph of her family. She was able to communicate with me using her finger that Billy did this to her."

"Often times, damage to the temporal lobe results in seizures, and those seizures have a tendency to start in the hands." David tried to explain. Mac was starting to realize what he was saying.

"So it's possible the movement of her finger up and down was involuntary." David nodded slowly. "In your professional opinion, do you think I made a mistake in showing her the photograph?"

"Well, like you said, she was responsive and obeying commands. Hate to play the Devil's advocate, Detective Taylor, but her defense attorney would have a field day with that."

"So, what's the bottom line here, David?" Oliver asked.

"Bottom line, there was no picture of what happened in her brain when you she moved her finger. So, there's just no way to know if her I.D. is reliable."

"And now she's defending her son." Oliver said, tapping his finger on his jeans. He sighed and stood up, the others followed suit. "Thanks, David."

He nodded. "Anytime."

Mac held out his hand. "Pleasure to actually meet you, Doctor King."

"Please, it's David. I get enough 'Doctor King' here." David smiled as they shook hand.

҉

**CSI BUILDING**

**OLIVER & LINDSEY'S OFFICE**

The minute Oliver got back and settled in his office, Danny comes in with Ravarra's record. He steals his wife's empty chair and rolls in over to Oliver's desk.

"He's defiantly lying."

"How so? You said you found the crowbar."

"Ah." He held up his finger. "_Possible_ murder weapon. I said we found the possible murder weapon. While you and Mac were out, I ran a few quick and easy tests on the crowbar. Now, Hawkes recovered traces of rust on the locks of the Travers house, right?"

Oliver smiled. "You dated the rust."

"Now, now, let me finish. Let me finish." Danny smiled. "The sample Hawkes took off the lock didn't contain magnetite. Meaning…" Danny waved his hand, prompting Oliver to answer.

"Meaning the rust is pretty damn old."

"Right. And it won't cling to steel. I ran a bar of steel over the sample and guess what – no reaction. But if the magnetite hasn't yet completely diminished, it'll react with steel."

Oliver sat up straighter in his chair. "Ravarra's rust reacted with the steel."

Danny pointed at him. "Boom."

"Manny Ravarra played us." Oliver leaned back in his chair again. "What I don't get is why would he want to go down for a murder he didn't commit?"

"Can't speak to that."

"Well, can you speak to how'd he know to lead you to a crowbar in the first place?"

"Timing." Danny handed him the file. "Ravarra came through the one-sixteen last night around two A.M. – same time and precinct as Billy Travers."

"Got to love New York," Oliver shook his head. "So I'm going at Billy in the interrogation room and Manny is sitting in the bullpen being processed."

"Rookie cops," Danny sighed. "After he was processed, he called his girlfriend in Woodside."

"Wait, wait, wait," Oliver held up a hand. "He has a girlfriend?"

Danny shrugged. "Women, you know."

"Not really," Oliver muttered. "What about the girlfriend?"

"I'm guessing that he asked her to find a crowbar, dump it in the sewer."

"Again, why does a convicted felon doing life confess to a crime he didn't commit?"

"Like I said, can't speak to that. I want to put him on a poly, but both our polygraph examiners are up in the Bronx working cases."

"Don said his cell mate ratted him out, right?"

"Yep, Owen Hicks, he's awaiting trial for rob one."

Oliver started to smile. "I've got an idea."

"Am I gonna like this idea?"

Oliver chuckled. "Pull 'em both out of Rikers and meet me at the precint."

Danny sighed, getting up out of the chair. "Don't think I'm going to like this."

"Neither is Adam," Oliver mumbled as he spotted Adam walking past the office with his nose in a file. Oliver was shrugging on his jacket and holstering his gun when Lindsey rushed in. "Hey, where's the fire?"

"Might have a lead on Billy."

Oliver stopped what he was doing. "Seriously?"

"Yeah," Lindsey talked as she searched her desk for something. "The tiny shard of glass from the bedspread is consistent with a beer bottle. The polyester fiber on the shard is what's really important. It's from a security laminate – four layers of virtually invisible polyester film that are bonded together to make a window impenetrable."

"To stop burglaries and stuff. Yeah, I have them in my apartment. The Travers' have it?"

"No, and there was no evidence of a broken beer bottle anywhere, either. The killer defiantly tracked it in. Mac is having me contact the security companies that install the laminate and get a list of locations and cross-check them with employees."

"This might lead us to Billy?"

"Mac thinks so. We just need to put him in that house."

Oliver sighed. "You're gonna be busy. I'll leave you to it. Let me know if you need any help."

"Right, thank you." She responded absentmindedly as she continued her search. Oliver smiled and walked out the door.

҉

**POLICE PRECEINT**

**OBSERVATION ROOM**

Oliver waited in the small observation room in between interrogation rooms one and three. On one wall was the window to look into interrogation room one, and on the other wall was the window to look into room three.

He watched as Manny Ravarra sat calmly in his orange jumpsuit, handcuffed to the steel table in room one. He casually glanced out the window into the bullpen, but did a double take when he saw Danny escorting Owen Hicks past the window and into room three.

Oliver heard Hicks asked Danny, "Yo, man, what's he doing here? You said we were going to sign some sort of cooperation agreement."

"Change of plans," Danny responded as he led him in to the room. Oliver turned around to face the window to room three. Danny led Hicks to his chair, sat his down, and handcuffed him to the table. On the steel table was a polygraph machine

"You-you talk to Manny?" Hicks asked nervously. "What did he tell you?"

"Don't worry about Manny." Danny waved off his concern. "He's got his story, you got yours. You're all good." Danny walked around to the other side of the table. "So long as you tell the truth, everything'll be fine."

As Danny began to fidget with the machine like he knew what he was doing, Hicks asked, "What the hell is this thing?"

"Polygraph."

"You giving me a lie detector test?" Hicks asked, leaning forward on the table. "I-I mean, aren't those, like, not admissible in court? T-They don't always work, right?"

"Eh, only about ninety-eight percent of the time. But don't worry about it. I mean, you're a smart guy, Owen, I can tell. Even if you're lying, you can beat this machine. You're gonna do great."

Danny began to head for the door. Hicks yelled after him. "Uh, wait, wait, wait. Where are you going?"

"I can give you the test. I'm not qualified. We have to bring in an expert." As he said that, the door opened and Adam walked in looking like a college professor with a grey blazer, wire glasses and a briefcase. "Ah, here we go." Danny clapped Adam on the shoulder. "Take it easy on him."

Danny left and the officer outside shut the door. Seconds later, Danny joined Oliver in the observation room.

"Nice job," Oliver commented.

"Thank you."

"Now it's up to Adam."

In the room, Adam sighed as he laid his briefcase on the table. Hicks was watching him like a frightened hawk. "Good afternoon, Mr. Hicks. I understand there is a question to the veracity of certain statements that you may or may not have made and/or hear during you confinement in the fine institution known as Rikers Island. Is that correct?"

Danny began laughing. "Where the hell he learn to talk like that."

"Gave him a few pointers, like confusing the hell out of a drug addict."

"Nice one," Danny held out his fist for a bump. Oliver gave it to him.

In the room, Hicks leaned forward with the most blank stare. "I have no idea what the hell you just said, man."

Adam looked up slowly from his clipboard. His voice was firm when he spoke. "Are you playing games with me, son?"

"No, I'm not playing games!"

Adam slammed his clipboard down on the table. He got close to Hicks' face. "Because any heretofore games will not be tolerated. Okay?"

Oliver smiled over at the giggling Danny. "How long to you give him?"

"Well, if Adam remembers to plug the damn thing in, I don't think he'll get past the first question."

Oliver chuckled. "First question?"

"You think longer?"

"I think shorter. Now way he gets that far."

"Wanna bet?"

"Oh, you're on. Money or beer?"

"Who do you think I am?"

Oliver nodded. "Beer it is." They shook hands and turned back to the window to watch Adam put a blood pressure cuff around Hick's arm. Oliver began to count down from ten as he counted the seconds on his watch. "Ten…nine…"

"This simply measures you blood pressure while the test is being administered." Adam was telling Hicks as he hooked him up. "The information then relays to the pen thingy which will go haywire if you're full of – if you're being untruthful." Adam walked back to his briefcase. And based on the amount of sweat accumulating on your forehead – gross – is more than likely. Ahh, now," Adam picked up a cord and stretched it as he walked back over to Hicks. "This tube is going to just go around your chest."

"…two…" Oliver smiled. "One-"

"No, I can't do this!" Hicks yelled, shoving Adam away with his free hand. He ripped off the pressure cuff. "I'm not going to do this, man! He said we could both help each other out. Okay, look." Hicks got out of his chair, picking it up with him, and walked over to the window. "Manny said that he had a girlfriend who lived in Queens, all right? And he never got to see her because it was too far from the prison that he was at upstate. So, he said that if he confessed to the murder of the couple, that would bring him downstate for the trial for at least a year. And then he'd be able to see her. He said to make it more believable he'd blab about it to me, and then I'd call the cops and maybe work out a deal for myself. That's the truth! I swear to God, that-" he turned away from the window to face the shocked face of Adam. "That's the truth man! I'm not lying!"

Oliver flicked off the mic. so he would hear. He turned to Danny with a smile. "You owe me a beer."

҉

**MAC'S OFFICE**

Mac was in the hallway, talking to some tech, when Oliver walked by. He didn't want to interrupt, so he held up his DD-5 to Mac and pointed to his office. Mac nodded, signaling that he should leave it on his desk.

Oliver was going to just slide it on the desk and walk away until he saw something. There were two photos – one of a tire iron, the other the face of the man that was brutally beaten with it – attached to a report with Oliver's name on it. Curiously furious, he lifted the report and began to skim over it.

"What are you doing?" Mac asked from his doorway.

Oliver slowly put the report back down on his desk and turned towards him. "I was just dropping off my DD-5 on Manny Ravarra's false confession when I noticed something."

"You weren't supposed to see that."

"Neither were you," Oliver said slowly. It was a tense moment between the two of them – Oliver trying to control his anger and Mac deciding on how to proceed.

"Got in touch with the D.A." Mac said.

"They letting Billy Travers out on bail?"

Mac nodded and walked past him to his desk. "The mother's I.D is all we have, and I'm not sure we even have that."

"Should we offer her protection?"

"She'll refuse. She's on her son's side now."

Oliver sighed, some of his anger shifting towards Billy. "So unless we come up with a forensic link, he'll be at her bedside by the end of the day." Turning to leave, he said, "I'll follow up with Lindsey and Sheldon-"

"Oliver." Mac's firm voice stopped him. When he saw that Oliver wasn't going to turn around, he proceeded anyway. "If this is going to work, we got to trust each other."

Oliver slowly walked backwards into the office, turning around to shut the door behind him. He stood face-to-face with Mac, only the desk separating them. "Trust, Mac? How do you expect me to trust you when you dug up that file on me? Or is it that you never trusted me from the beginning?"

"I do trust you, Oliver."

"Then what are you doing with the file? It's got my name on it, Mac!"

"Concerns from the brass were expressed about you joining my team." He picked up the file and let it drop back to the desk with a loud thud. "This is what they sent me. Don't ask me how they got it, I don't know."

Oliver's jaw clenched, his fists contracting and releasing. He breathed deep for a few seconds to get under control. Oliver wasn't the type to have anger issues. It was only with this case, this file, this section of his past that he felt primal rage.

"You read it?" Oliver asked quietly, looking out the window past Mac.

"I did." Mac nodded.

"And?"

"And…what? What happened in Afghanistan wasn't a part of my history. I experienced something similar when I served, but not to the extent this file describes. What that soldier did, on and off the battle field, was unforgivable. He should have been punished, but not by your hands."

"Allegedly." Oliver said.

"Right." Mac nodded slowly. "Allegedly." He was about to say something else when he noticed Lindsey standing somewhat awkwardly a little ways away from the door with a file in her hand.

While Mac and Oliver had been talking, a few techs noticed the tension in the room and were watching the discussion. Of course they couldn't hear anything, but they still were curious about what was going on behind those closed door. Mac shot them all a glare and they scattered back to work He waved Lindsey in.

When she came in, she noted the rigid military stance Oliver was in. She made a mental note to ask him about it later.

"What do you have, Lindsey?" Mac asked.

"There are four companies in the city the manufacture the security laminate in found on the shards on the vic's bed. One of them installed the laminate for something called Glassphemy."

"I read about that in the paper." Oliver said, turning his attention to Lindsey. "Art installation where people get out their aggression by hurling bottles into a glass cage. The company collects the shard and recycles them." Quickly giving Mac a sideways glance he muttered, "I might need to try that."

"They, uh, they use the polyester laminate on the cage to keep it from breaking." Lindsey continued.

"So, a piece of the laminate was transferred to a shard of glass which came in contact with out killer." Mac connected. "And the killed transferred it to the bed."

"Glassphemy uses an outside company, Brookston Recycling, to pulverize the shards." Lindsey opened up the file to a certain page and handed it to Mac. "So, I got their employee list. That guy is particularly interesting."

"Paul Benson…" Mac read off of his arrest record. "Who is he?"

"He was released a week ago from Hudson correctional. He served eight years for rape."

"Connection to the case?" Oliver asked.

"He grew up in the victim's house."

Mac instantly picked up his phone. "Yeah, Don. I need you and Danny to pick up are new prime suspect. Paul Benson. Lindsey will send you the information."

Lindsey nodded and headed out the door. Oliver was about to leave too, but Mac covered the phone and said, "We're not finished with this, Oliver. We still need to talk."

"You want to talk, Mac. Fine, we'll talk. But for right now, let's focus on getting this scumbag."

҉

**POLICE PRECEINT**

**BULLPEN**

Oliver walked into the prescient bullpen with Mr. and Mrs. Benson next to him. He signaled over an officer. "Mr. and Mrs. Benson, this officer is going to take you to a room. If you'll patiently wait there, I'll be right in to talk to you."

They nodded and were escorted away by the officer. He looked around the room and spotted Danny and Don sitting at Don's desk, talking over the case. When he waked up, Don asked, "Those the parents?"

"Yeah, called them in once we knew it was Paul from the dirt under his shoes Sheldon matched to the crime scene." He sighed and sat down on the edge of the desk. "I'm about to go talk to them. Anything you can tell me?"

"He was the senior class president, captain of the soccer team, Dean's list – everything going for him back in 2000." Don said.

"Guy you loved to hate in every John Hughes film." Danny smiled.

Don handed over the file. "Dated the prom queen, Sarah Dufresne. She told him that she wanted to wait and that if he loved her, that he would wait to. Paul grabbed her arms and forced her down. Did eight years. Got out a week and a half ago."

"Hold on," Oliver mumbled, flipping through the thin case file. "You guys didn't have anything beyond her statement. Says here he claimed it was consensual." He looked up from the file. "Classic he said/she said, jury sympathized with her and took him down."

"Not quite." Danny said. He craned his neck to see the file, flipping to another page. "Take a look at that."

"Holy shit." Oliver muttered. "Parents testified against him."

҉

**POLICE PRECEINT**

**INTERROGATION ROOM #2**

"Not a day goes by that we don't second-guess our decision." Steven Benson said. His wife, Nina, held onto his arm. "Paul's our son."

"If you'd kept silent, you wouldn't have been able to live with yourselves." Oliver told them.

"Paul was a good kid, so much going for him." Nina insisted. "H-He came home that night and we immediately knew something was wrong. When he told us, all I could see was Sarah's face, and what she must've been going through."

"And her parents, we'd known them for years." Steven said. "Sarah obviously went to the police and they arrested Paul. When the prosecutor asked for our cooperation, it took a few weeks and several fights, but we decided that telling the truth was the right thing to do."

"It was. No matter how much it may have hurt." Oliver commended them. "So you had no contact with Paul after that?"

Nina shook her head. Steven said, "We tried, but Paul didn't want anything to do with us. He felt that we'd betrayed him, so he cut us off."

"We moved a couple years later," Nina said. "We tried to put it behind us."

Oliver sighed, deciding how to break it to them. "Paul was digging around the side of the house for the spare key, but they locks had been changed. He used a crowbar to get inside. He thought it was you in that bed. Paul went back to the house to kill you."

҉

**CSI BUILDING**

Everyone was gathered at the elevators, laughing and joking around – Danny had his arms wrapped around Lindsey, Adam was retelling his scene to Don, and Sheldon and Sid were comparing brain damage theory if shot by a ray gun. Oliver was leaning against his office's doorframe, watching the happy family. That's what they were….a family.

"Hey, Gunny, you coming or what?" Don yelled out, waving him over.

"Depends." Oliver said as he waked towards them. "What'd you have in mind?"

"Drinking, what else?" Sid smiled, causing everyone to laugh.

"Don't you guys have lives?" Oliver joked. He pointed at the couple. "What about Lucy?"

"Jane's watching her for us tonight." Lindsey smiled. "Thank you, by the way."

Oliver winked. "What bar?"

"We have a usual place we go to as a team, have some drinks, blow off steam." Adam said. "Wanna come?"

"You do owe me that drink, Messer." Oliver smiled and shook his head. "But not tonight, fellas, sorry."

"What on Earth could be more important than getting hammered and spilling all your secrets to your new bestest friends?" Sheldon asked. All day, he's been trying to make up for the crack in autopsy.

Oliver lightly socked him in the shoulder. "That would be why. I like my secrets where they are."

"No, but seriously, what's stopping you?" Don asked. Behind them, the elevator dinged and opened up. They began to file in as Oliver said, in a serious tone,

"I've got some things to answer for."

"Cryptic." Lindsey said, her brow furrowing.

Oliver winked. "Story for another time. Have a beer for me, willya?"

"I'll make it three," Don smiled as the doors closed. Oliver backed away from the elevator, smiling.

"Not going out with them?" Mac asked, coming down the hallway.

Oliver shook his head. "Not tonight. Me and you…we've got to talk."

Mac nodded. "My office."


	5. Chapter 5

**COHEN-KING APARTMENT**

"Kate, are you almost ready?" David called out from the living room. He, like everyone else in the house, was dressed up and waiting for the little starlet to come out of her room. He wore a Burberry navy sports jacket over a navy and white checked long sleeve shirt with slim-cut wool pants and black loafers. Oliver has always thought that David was secretly a GQ model.

"Almost, Papa!" She called back.

"Maybe I should…" Kenzi motioned towards Katherine's room. She was wearing a sleeveless tangerine color dress with a crewneck lining and crisscross backing, paired with T-strap brown sandals. Her dramatically dark makeup was replaced by a more natural look.

Given Oliver's recent downtime, he and David went shopping recently and along with picking up new furniture and clothes for the kids, Oliver picked up some new clothes, as well. Truthfully, he thought he looked more like David with the designer style, but he had to admit he looked extremely nice: white long sleeved shirt with a crisp collar, khakis and loafers. He nodded and checked his wristwatch. "See if she needs any help. If not, drag her out here."

"Maybe not drag-" David tried to say, but Oliver cut him off.

"We're going to be late." He turned to him and smiled. "This is her first recital to me. I'd like to get relatively good seats."

"They're all good seats, Dad." Jane said. Looking older than her age, she wore a white crewneck cardigan over a white lace tank top with red skinny jeans and black heels. It wasn't the outfit that made her look older, but the makeup she had on. Lipstick included. Oliver was hoping she raided Kenzi's makeup instead of actually owning any.

"You have obviously never been a parent," David winked at her. Jane rolled her eyes.

"There she is!" Oliver smiled when he saw his youngest daughter coming down the hall in her pink leotard with white stockings and pink ballet slippers. Her blonde hair was tied back in a tight bun on top of her head.

Katherine gave them all a small bow as she entered the room before running up to Oliver. "Do you like it, Daddy?"

"Like it?" He picked her up and spun her in his arms for a moment. "I love it! Pink is defiantly your color." She squealed with his approval and hugged his neck. He slid her to the floor and turned to face the family. "Everybody ready?"

"Wait!" Thomas yelled. He crawled out from under the table and ran up to David, holding out his hands. "I don't know how to tie this."

David crouched down in front of him. "Tommy, you got your clothes dirty."

Thomas was wearing nearly the same thing as Oliver, but he wore a navy blue sweater over his shirt. He looked down and saw small black marks on his khakis. He quickly wiped them off. He looked back up at David with a toothless smile – the night before he lost one of his front teeth.

"Tie it in the car." Oliver instructed, walking to the door hand-in-hand with Katherine. He grabbed her small pink coat off the coat rack and shrugged it on her. "Dave, we taking two cars or one?"

"Two," David groaned as he picked Thomas up and pocketed the bowtie. "Julie, my head nurse, said there's a chance I might get called in."

"Alright. Who's riding with who?"

Kenzi fished David's keys out of his pocket. "You tie; I drive."

"It's settled, then." He squeezed Katherine's hand. "Let's go."

҉

**MOORE'S DANCE STUDIO **

**THEATER**

Watching little Katherine on stage was something Oliver would never forget. She was just born to be a ballerina. Oliver sat with his arm around Jane's chair and held David's hand as their baby, only six years old, does plies with the rest of her class. All the other little girls smiling and giggling when they miss a step, one girl even cried, but Katherine's face was absolutely serious. While the other girls' legs wobbled, Katherine's were perfectly steady.

Oliver had had made sure Kenzi's camcorder was out and was watching everything Katherine did. He was as proud as a father could be right now.  
Katherine must have seen them in the crowd; because her mouth curled into a little smile and she closed her eyes for a moment. The bright lights sparkled off the glitter Jane had put on her eyelids in the car. When the class was supposed to point their toes in the routine, her foot was the surest of them all.

"What's wrong, honey?" David asked Oliver quietly as to not disturb the other parents around them.  
"She's growing up so fast, David." Oliver whispered back. "She's already wearing makeup. What's next, tampons?"  
A mother in front of them must have overheard them, because she turned around with a startled look on her face. "Perhaps this is a conversation for another time?"

"Watch the stage," David told her, pointing to the girls. The woman huffed and turned back around, muttering something to her husband. Oliver smiled. "Look, Ollie, she's only wearing stage makeup. And as for the other thing, she's only six."

"I know, I know, but still." He sighed, shifting in his seat.

"What is it?" David squeezed his hand. "You look worried."

"W-What if she doesn't need us anymore?"

"Ollie-"

"We're only her dads. Jane and Kenzi know more about what to do-"

"Oliver, she's only six." David reminded him with a smile. "There is absolutely nothing to worry about." David leaned in closer to Oliver to whisper in his ear, "Who do you think taught Jane how to do her makeup? Hint – not Kenzi."

҉

**MOORE'S DANCE STUDIO**

**LOBBY**

Just like this morning, everyone found themselves waiting for Kenzi to bring Katherine back so they could leave. Oliver didn't like to be surrounded by large crowds without being able to see any entrances and exits. Maybe it was his training or his claustrophobia, but it was a quirk.

As Oliver held Thomas on his hip, he tried to look over Jane's shoulder to see what she was doing on her phone. When she caught him, she slightly shoved him away.

"Ooo, you don't want me to see who you're texting!" Oliver smiled. He bumped his hip gently against hers. "Sharing secrets? Talking about alcohol and drugs? Sick parties? Boys?"

Jane laughed. "God, dad, you seriously need to stop."

"Stop what?"

"Embarrassing me," she smiled.

"No can do, kiddo. Part of my job description." He looked at Thomas. "Isn't that right?"

"That's right!" Thomas agreed.

"That's my man!" Oliver kissed his cheek.

"But seriously, who're you talking to that I can't know about."

"None of your business…" she said coyly.

"Uh huh, I see how it is." Oliver nodded. "No, I get it."

"What do you get?" David asked. Oliver hadn't noticed he'd walked away until he reappeared with cookies. Thomas stuck out his hand and David gave him an oatmeal raisin cookie to munch on.

"Hey, watch the crumbs, buddy." Oliver told him, dusting off his shoulder. He turned to David. "Our daughter's got a secret boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend!" Jane declared with a smile. "Wait…h-how did you know I was talking to a boy?"

"Your left eyebrow twitches and you tend to bite you lower lip when you're talking to somebody you think is cute." Oliver winked.

"How'd you know that?" David asked.

"I'm a detective, babe," He leaned over and quickly kissed David's lips. "It's what I do."

"Well, I've still got you for the rest of the day, so stop…detecting." David smiled.

"Yes, Doctor Watson," Oliver mock saluted him before taking a bite of Thomas's cookie.

"Daddy!" Thomas cried.

"What?"

"That was my cookie!"

"Didn't they teach you sharing-is-caring in school?" Oliver asked.

"No," Thomas hid the rest of his cookie in his pocket. "I'm not a communist."

Oliver was so shocked, he nearly dropped Thomas. "Say what now?"

Thomas smiled. "Our teacher said that we don't need to be thinking like communists."

David opened his mouth to say something when a middle aged mother dressed in her Sunday best walked over to them with her daughter in tow. The little girl was wearing a black leotard with white ballet slippers, so she must have been one of the 'bad' girls in the recital.

"E-Excuse me," She said in a nasally, pious voice. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but look over, but are you two a…" She wiggled a perfectly manicured finger between Oliver and David.

"A couple?" Oliver asked. "Yes, ma'am we are. Can we help you with something?"

"Besides my hair?" She pulled her daughter closer to her. "I was standing over and I couldn't help but notice your, uh," she covered her daughter's ears and whispered, "K-I-S-S. I wanted to ask if you could not do that in front of my daughter. K-I-S-S-I-N-G another man. It's a family theater and we shouldn't have to go home and explain that to our biological kids."

By now, Kenzi has returned with Katherine, a small flower sticking out of her bun. David picked her up. "Explain what?"

"Look," the woman's smile twitched. "I don't care what you do in the privacy of your own home, but don't do it in here and expose children to…._your_ way of life."

David made a move to step forward, but Oliver held out his hand. "Come on, let's go. She's not worth it."

"No, no, no," Jane said, stepping forward. Oliver has never seen his daughter as mad as she was now. "Explain what, ma'am? _Love_?"

"Sweetie, I'm sure you're grateful to them adopting you, but I'm just trying to warn them." She looked over Jane's shoulder at Oliver and David. "Some of the father's here don't appreciate your kind being near our children. I'm just trying to warn you before-"

"Excuse me?" Jane said, stepping closer to the woman. They were perhaps a foot or too away from each other. "Thank you, _ma'am_, for your intolerance and your bigotry and for fostering this ignorance in another generation!"

Jane's raised voice was drawing attention. A few families backed away while others crept closer to see what was happening. David handed Kenzi the kids as Oliver gave her his keys and said, "Take them to the car. We'll be right out."

"I'm just trying to protect my family, here." The woman said, clearly uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well you and people like you are screwing with mine. I wasn't adopted! And neither was my brother and sister!" She took a step forward. "Point is, _bitch_, we were made out of love. Something you clearly don't understand."

"You know what," the woman said, squaring her shoulders. "I feel bad for you kids."

David walked up and wrapped his arms around Jane's waist from behind. As he pulled her away, she barked out laughter. "That's rich! You know who had straight parents? Hitler."

The woman, and several people in the crowd, gasped. Oliver stepped forward. "Ma'am, I'm going to say this once: stop with the harassment."

"Or what?" She hissed.

He pulled back his jacket, giving her a glimpse of his gun, before pulling out his badge. "Or I'll have you brought in on charges relating to hate crimes." He put away his badge, donning shaded aviator glasses. He smiled wickedly. "Have a nice day."

҉

**CAR**

When Oliver got to the parking lot, he saw David's empty parking spot. He could see Kenzi in the passenger seat, turning around to say something to the three kids in the back. He was walking towards them when Don's ringtone sounds. He digs his cell out of his pocket and flips it open.

"Cohen."

"_Hey, Ollie, need you to come in_."

"Where?"

"_Midtown. Deeberry Hotel. I'll text you the address_."

"What can you tell me?" Oliver asked as he opened up the driver's side door and stepped in. He swatted at the air behind his seat to motion for the kids to quiet down.

"_Man's body found a few hours ago. Looks like homicide_."

"Why do you say that?"

_"The stiff has ties with El Puno, notorious Puerto Rican gang in East Harlem. Lately, El Puno's been getting pretty violent."_

"So this is gang related?"

_"Dunno. Either way-"_

"Be careful not to piss of any Puerto Ricans?" Don laughed before Oliver hung up on him. He put his cell phone in the cup holder and turned the keys that were already in the ignition. "Sorry guys. We're going to have to make a short stop before ice cream."

"You going to work?" Katherine asked sadly. "Papa already left."

"I know, sweetie. It's your day, I know, but Papa and I both have people to help. You understand that, right? I wouldn't go unless I had to."

Katehrine nodded. "I understand."

"How about this." Oliver smiled. "You can have my scoop of ice cream. Sounds fair?"

Katherine immediately brightened up. "Okay!"

"I want two scoops!" Thomas yelled, kicking the rest in between the driver's and passenger's seat.

"Not with that attitude!" Kenzi said. "You're old enough to know better than to pitch a fit when you don't get something."

"Yeah, Thomas." Katherine muttered.

"I heard that." Oliver looked up at her through the rearview mirror. "Aunt Kenzi can easily not take you out for ice cream. You can go straight home."

That got the two to stop talking for a little bit. Thomas broke the silence by tugging on Jane's cardigan and asking, "What ice cream flavor are you getting?"

"I'm not getting ice cream." She said quietly. Oliver could hear the angry undertone. He glanced up at her through the rearview mirror and saw she was curled towards the window, absently watching the city roll by.

"But you always get ice cream."

"No today, okay!" Jane yelled at him.

"Jane!" Oliver yelled at her. Thomas looked startled by her outburst, but didn't cry. He just nudged his booster seat away from her and towards Katherine's booster seat. "Don't you ever yell at your brother. Do you understand me? Jane, do you-"

"Yes, I understand!" She yelled. She huffed and sank lower into her seat, muttering, "Now you decide to get angry…"

Oliver gripped the steering wheel tighter until his knuckles turned white and kept driving.

҉

**MIDTOWN**

**DEEBERRY HOTEL**

Oliver parked the car alongside the yellow tape. He, Kenzi, and Jane got out – He moved towards the trunk, Kenzi to the driver's seat, and Jane to the passenger's. He placed his silver metal equipment case on the ground as he shrugged on his cross-body leather briefcase. Shutting the back-hatch, he picked up the case and moved to the passenger window. Jane rolled it down with a stony face. He leaned in to talk to Kenzi.

"Take care of my baby, you hear?"

Kenzi rolled her eyes. "It's only ice cream."

"I was talking about my car."

"Daddy!" Katherine and Thomas chorused each other.

Oliver winked and clapped down on the edge of the open window. "Not too much sugar, it's not even noon yet."

"Yo, Cohen!" Don yelled from the hotel steps a few feet away. "Got a scene to process, here!"

Oliver shot him the finger before turning back. He looked at Jane and said, in all seriousness, "We'll talk later."

"Sure," she sighed and rolled up the window in his face.

Oliver shook his head and waved to the younger ones in the back seat before walking towards Don. Mac joined them a second after.

"All's well in paradise?" Don asked.

As he put on his gloves, Oliver dodged the question. "Missing out on the ice cream after party I promised Katherine for her recital. This better be good, Don. Where's the rest of the team?"

"Called you and Mac in first."

"Why?" Mac asked.

"Because we've got a big fish." Don walked off the steps to point up to the body impaled on the spikes of the metal awning above them. "Vic is Panthro Torres, leader of El Puno."

"We've been trying to take him down for years." Mac said.

"Looks like you'll need bolt cutters this time." Oliver said and Don cracked a smile. "How'd he end up in the awning?"

"Suite registered under one of his aliases on the six floor," Don pointed up to the only sixth floor window with shattered glass. "Long fall from a high window."

Mac walked off first, pushing open the hotel doors. Don and Oliver followed a few feet behind. They were in the elevator together when Don asked, "So that was the elusive fiancé nobody's seen? The one driving the SUV?"

Oliver looked over his shoulder at him. "That's my sister."

Don shrugged. "Hottie."

"Watch it, Flack." Oliver smiled. "I do carry a gun."

"So do I. And I'm gonna point it at you if none of us get to meet her."

"Who, my sister?"

The elevator doors chimed and opened up. A patrol cop was on the other side. He stopped them to check for badges. Once they got the green light, he nodded them down the long hallway where more patrol cops stood guard outside a yellow taped off door.

"Your fiancé, dip shit." Don smiled.

"You'll meet my fiancé when I feel that it's right."

"What does that mean?"

"Don," Mac warned, shaking his head.

Don sighed. "Alright. Can I at least have a name? Can't just keep calling her 'your fiancé'."

"Where's the window?" Mac said, interrupting the conversation as they walked into the suit.

"Bedroom." Din pointed towards the left. "Down the hall, second left."

Oliver flashed Mac a grateful smile and followed him into the bedroom, Don a few feet behind them. When he entered, Oliver gave a low whistle. The room was trashed – furniture broken, glass shattered, lamps on and knocked over, bed trampled….

"This is why they take your credit card when you check in." Don said, walking further into the room. Mac chuckled and put his gloves on.

Already having gloves on, Oliver began looking around. He spotted a half empty bottle of tequila and two shot glasses on the floor. "Torres defiantly got into it with someone."

"Think exiting out the window was his idea?" Don asked sarcastically. "Guy wakes up a big shot, ends up a shish kabob."

Mac walked over to the shattered window, peering down at the city. "A lot can change in one day."

҉

**LATER**

As Mac and Oliver exited the hotel, Oliver could see some of the team working – The Messers' already blew past them by the elevators; and Sheldon and Sid were attaching harnesses to their waists by the NYPD lift machine that would take them up to the body.

Don was telling Oliver and Mac, "The U.S Attorney's office has a pending indictment against Panthro Torres, and they're offering us full cooperation."

"Sounds like we should prepare for some serious repercussions." Oliver said. He carefully walked over the piles of glass that littered the ground.

"Torres was the leader of El Puno, so this was likely a hit by a rival gang."

"That means El Puno's gonna want blood." Mac said as he led them away from the scene.

Oliver stopped behind two police cruisers. "From what I've heard from this crowd, these aren't just two-bit, three block dope dealers."

"Far from it." Mac said. "They control East Harlem."

"Drug trafficking, extortion, murder for hire, you name it." Don rattled off. "El Puno's a one-stop shop for all bad things."

Oliver crossed his arms. "We better find whoever killed Torres, and fast, because he's gonna have a mark on his head. Find him before the streets do."

Mac put on his sunglasses. "It's gonna be war."

Oliver sighed. He looked over his shoulder to see Sid and Sheldon moving up towards the body. "Alright. I'm going to go talk to Sid, see what he and Sheldon have found."

"Oh, how was Katherine's ballet recital? She win?" Don asked.

Oliver laughed. "Can't win in ballet, Don." He patted the other's man's shoulder. "Have a daughter one day and you'll see."

"Hey, I like my freedom too much!" Don called after him as Oliver walked away.

"What've you got up there, Docs!" Oliver yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth to amplify his voice.

"A dead gangster," Sheldon called down in between snapping pictures.

"Well, you know what they say – live by the gun, die by the-"

"Gunshot wounds!" Sid called down. "First is to the left hand. Through and through."

"Can you tell what type?"

"Not without a closer look. Perhaps large caliber." Oliver watched Sid shift on the lift. "Second gunshot wound to the chest."

"Cause of death?"

"Unclear at the moment. Need to get him on the table."

"So this guy gets shot twice, goes through a window – BAM! Gets impaled." Sheldon said, demonstrating with his hands. He turned around slightly to look down at Oliver. "Know anybody bold enough to do this?"

"Theory right now is rival gang. I'll call the Messer's; see if they've gotten anything." Oliver walked forward, under the awning, and placed his call. "Danny, its Oliver. Got anything for me?"

_"Lindsey says there's no sign of forced entry, but this has rival gang written all over it for me."_

"That's our working theory, so far."

_"Yeah, well, since the door wasn't forced, the killer either had a key or the vic let him in. Lindsey's gonna cross reference hotel surveillance with pictures of known gang members."_

"Smart," Oliver nodded his approval.

_"Why do you think I married her?"_

"'Cause you knocked her up?" Oliver teased. "Anyway, the manager said Torres checked in alone. What'd you make of that?"

_"I don't see him traveling without a crew with the number of enemies he's got."_

"Maybe he was meeting with someone – a girl maybe. The bed was messy, there was a half empty bottle of tequila on the floor with two shot glasses-"

_"Oh, speaking of the bottle. Found something ugly in it."_

"Like what?"

_"A big worm with teeth. The hell is that?"_

Oliver chuckled. "Find anything else to match up with the company theory?"

_"Yeah, Lindsey found a pink lipstick kiss on the mirror. Possible a girl came up to do the deed before calling in someone to do another."_

"Alright. Good work, you two. Try and stay off the bed."

_"Please, Lindsey'll have a fit if the sheets aren't clean."_

҉

**OLIVER & LINDSEY'S OFFICE**

Oliver was waiting swiveling in his chair for some pictures and documents to print as he talked to David on the phone.

_"We need to talk to her."_

"I know. I told her we would." Oliver began to tapping his pencil on his desk. "That's not why I'm upset, though."

"_Please tell me you're not still thinking about that woman from the studio? That was an isolated incident, its fine."_

"No, David, it's not fine."

_"There will always be ignorant jerks, there's nothing changing that. The best we can do is ignore them."_

"That's the best we can do? Honey, we've been ignoring people like that nearly our whole lives! That's not good enough anymore, we have kids." Oliver sighed. "God! I've been gone too long to see that everything has changed. We need to, too."

_"Yes, things have changed, but-"_

"But what? We've brought three beautiful children into a world where idiot people are free to do the things they say and do because we have been trained to ignore them. The lady was not the problem, David, we are the problem. Jane…God help me, but I think Jane was right, doing what she did."

_"Would you have done that Oliver; beat someone body up, flash 'em your badge and gun? You're not that kind of guy! And neither is our daughter-"_

"I know!" He sighed. "I know, David. It was wrong of her to do it, I know, but I'm just saying it had to be done. Not by our daughter, but by someone."

"_Are you upset with Jane for doing it?"_

"No. I'm upset with me, with-with thinking that it would be easy coming home after seven years away. I just keep thinking about how it looked in front of our kids? Would they think we're ashamed of who we are? Ashamed of them?"

"_No, Oliver. God no! Thomas and Katherine and Jane….they know us. They know we're proud to be their parents, proud to have a family as fabulous as we are."_ David chuckled at his own little joke.

Oliver calmed down a little more. Leaning back in his chair, he asked, "David, what kind of message are we sending our kids?"

_"Seeing Jane go off on that woman, I'd say we're sending mixed message – passive from me, aggressive from you."_

"Why do I have to be the aggressive one?" Oliver smiled.

"_Have you met yourself? Point is, we are doing the best we can as parents. At the end of the night, if everyone is healthy and safe, then I'd say we're doing a damn good job."_

"How are we supposed to protect them against hate, though?" Oliver asked after a few quiet moments. "We tell them not to play in the street, not to do drugs-"

_"-to wear thick Shea butter moisturizing cream before bed-"_ David added, getting a chuckled from Oliver. _"I don't know the answer to that one, babe. But I have a feeling they already do."_

A knock on the door pulled Oliver back into reality. He looked up to see Sid on the other side of the glass with a blue file in his hands. Oliver held up one finger. "I've got to go. We talk to her together, okay?"

_"Fine with me. I won't be home till late, though. I love you."_

"Love you, too." Oliver hung up and waved Sid in. He gathered up the iteams from the printer. "What've you got for me, Doc?"

"A bottle of Aspirin, maybe?" Sid pulled Lindsey's chair up to Oliver's desk. "You look like your head's about to explode. Everything alright?"

He sighed. "It will be. Hopefully."

Sid nodded. "Well, uh, I finished my autopsy." He handed over the blue file. "Panthro Torres had three ways to die. Official C.O.D. is cerebral hemorrhaging from a cracked skull due to his head hitting the awning. Had he survived that, he certainly would have succumbed to exsanguination from impalement. Not a bad way to go, considering option number three – a ruptured vena cava, curtsy of a fragmented .45." Sid pulled out three small tubes containing the remains of the bullet. He set them on Oliver's desk.

Oliver winced as he read the report. He continued reading as he said, "According to Torres' rap sheet, he was suspected in five unsolved murders. Highly doubt the victims' families are shedding nay tears." He set the report in his lap and picked up the bottles. "I'll have Sheldon piece together the bullet and run it through IBIS. Thanks, Sid."

"Anytime." Sid said, about to get up.

"Hey, why'd you come up here to give me your report and the bullet fragments?"

Sid smiled. "Words gets around you like people reporting in as soon as they have something."

Oliver smiled. "Old habit."

"Give it to Mac, will you?"

"'Course, Doc. Oh Sid!" Oliver called out before he was out the door. "You free to grab a beer tonight?"

"Sure," He smiled. "Any special reason?"

"Yeah, I've got sort of an announcement to make."

"Can't wait." Sid left to go back to autopsy.

Oliver put his printed documents and pictures in an empty file and went back to the conference room. For the past hour he's been making a sort of flow-chart with pictures and documents connecting the members of El Puno. When everything was set up, he drew a frowny face with 'x's for eyes and placed it over Torres's mug shot. He was at the top of the chart.

"Hey. Did you solve anything yet?" Mac asked as he came in.

"You buying lunch?" Oliver asked, laughing. He turns back to the board, pointing at Torres's picture. "Torres's death leaves a void at the top of his crew, so I put together a chart of the ranking members of El Puno to see who would possibly replace him. We might be able to avoid a street war if we can talk with them."

Mac gave him a knowing smile. "Gathering this as you go?"

Oliver tapped Torres's picture again. "Seem, Torres was the face of his crew, but Lisa Brigosa," Oliver tapped the picture of a smiling Latino woman that was down and to the right of Torres, "she's the brains." He tapped the mug shot of a mean looking man that was to the left of Brigosa's. "Rick Devarro is the street muscle. Give his fondness of being arrested, Rick ain't too bright."

"There's one other," Mac said as he scanned the chart. He took out a prison photo of an elderly man with grey hair coming down to his shoulders. He taped it inbetween Brigosa's and Devarro's pictures. "Luther Devarro."

"Relation to Rick?"

"His older brother. The founder of El Puno, but more of an advisor at this stage of his career. I helped put him away fifteen years ago. He was released last week."

"Convenient."

"It's one thing to be a street guy, another to be smart. It's dangerous when both those qualities are embodied in one person."

Oliver's cell phone beeped. He took it out of his pocket and looked down. "Alight. I'm going to go talk to Adam. Give my brain a little rest."

҉

**LAB**

Adam was looking at the small creature in the tequila bottle when Oliver walked in. Oliver clapped his hands together, startling Adam, and rubbed them together.

"What do you got?"

"Um, no prints on the lowball glasses from the hotel room," Adam held up the evidence bag they were in, all without looking away from the creature, "But I did get DNA."

"Really?" Oliver picked up the DNA file from the desk and opened it.

"Yeah, two separate profiles. One from our vic, and the other one's not in CODIS."

"Could be from the female companion."

"Okay, get this," Adam said, gently tapping Oliver's chest with the back of his hand. "I've seen everything in these bottles – worms, spiders, live scorpions…whose venom, by the way, makes this drink an hallucinogenic." Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Uh, well, I-I-I don't know anything about that. Um, but I've never seen anything like this before."

"Did you contact the brand manufacturer?"

"Yeah, it turns out they don't put anything in these bottles."

"So it was tampered with."

"Yeah, but, why?" Adam brought the bottle back up to his eyes.

They were silent for a moment. Oliver cleared his throat and said slightly uncomfortably, "Speaking of bottles and alcohol," Adam looked up, "you free tonight?"

"Depends. Why?"

"I'm getting the guys together for a few drinks. I have kind of an announcement to make."

"Oooh, announcement," Adam put the bottle on the lab table. "What is it?"

Oliver smiled. "Come tonight and you'll see."

҉

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Oliver had set up a second board titled ' MAMBAS' placed next to 'EL PUNO's board. It had taken in nearly two hours and two cups of coffee, but he was nearly done. He was put the last of the crew member's mug shots on the board when The Messer's walked.

"Hazel Ortega, betrayed with a kiss," Danny said, holding up her picture, "he own." He gave Oliver the photo. "I swabbed the lipstick print on the mirror and ran the DNA trace through the system. Didn't get a match on the lowball glass but we got a match to a felony committed by our girl here."

Lindsey handed over her tablet with Ortega's rap sheet pulled up. "Turns out it was gang-related."

"Says here she lives in Garvey Park," Oliver read of the tablet. "That's Mamba territory. They're rivals of our vic's crew."

Lindsey was handed back her tablet. She pulled up another tab as she spoke, "Yeah, I checked the Gang Intelligence Database. Now, Hazel Ortega is considered inactive, but she was a member of the Mambas."

"Yeah, since then," Danny said, crossing his arms across his chest, "according to her tax records, she moved on to a different profession."

"Eloquent Evenings," Lindsey smiled as she handed Oliver the tablet back. There was a gallery of photos of woman dressed in lingerie. "It's an escort service. They provide high-end call-girls to "leaders of industry".

"Looks like number seven is our girl," Oliver tapped on her photo. "Purple Hazel. Very catchy."

Lindsey took back her tablet and began to type something. "Now, hotel surveillance didn't give me any matches to current gang members, but I got…." She hit a button and handed it back to Oliver. It was surveillance video of Hazel Ortega in the hotel lobby."

"She could have set him up." Danny said.

"Or shot him herself," Oliver said as he placed Ortega's picture with the Mambas.

"Want me to call the service, see if she's working?" Danny asked, leading to a shoulder punch by his wife. "Hey! Hey, alright! It's for the good of the case. You know, taking one for the team and all."

Oliver smiled as he pulled out his phone. "Thank you for your humble sacrifice, Danny, but I think Don and I – Hey, Don!"

_"What's up?"_

"Wanna take a little ride?"

_"Sure, where to?"_

"I'll tell you when you pick me up at the Crime Lab." Oliver hung up. He was on his way out the door when he turned around. "Oh, Danny, you free to grab a drink with us tonight. Boy's night out."

Danny looked over at Lindsey, "I don't know…"

She rolled her eyes.

҉

**GARVEY PARK**

"What's this 'Boy's Night' I'm hearing about?" Don asked as they sat in his car and waited outside Hazel Ortega's apartment. Combine the bullet proof vest they were wearing and the lack of air conditioning was making Oliver sweat.

"I'm getting the guys together for a few drinks," Oliver shrugged.

"Sid said you had some kind of announcement…?"

"Yep," Oliver nodded.

"Don't tell me, you're fiancé's pregnant?" Don smiled.

Oliver couldn't help but laugh out loud. "No, no, no. Nothing like that, although, it does have to do with my fiancé."

"We're gonna met her?"

Oliver was about to answer when he spotted Ortega coming out of her apartment with a large duffle bag on either shoulder. She looked around the street cautiously to see if anyone was watching her.

"Go, go, go," Don said, opening his car door. Oliver drew his gun and got out. They split up, flanking her on either side, and carefully made it across the street. Ortega's hand was in her purse. When she spotted someone she recognized, she was about to pull it out, but Don got a hold of her arms from behind. "Put a leash on that thing, Hazel. Police."

Oliver came up in front of her, his gun by his side, as Don grabb one of her arms. They were carting her towards the car when Oliver asked, "Nice bags. Going somewhere?"

"Too bad. Now you're coming with us." Don walked her in front of the car. "Hands on the hood."

Don was putting the cuffs on her as Oliver took her bags and placed them in the trunk. They were pretty heavy, most likely full of clothes. He took the gun out of her purse and placed it in an evidence bag he pulled out of his back pocket. He sealed it, folded it, and got back in the car. Ortega kept saying, "I didn't kill him," as they drove off.

"You know, these talks would go a lot better if you weren't packing a .45," Oliver said over his shoulder. "It was the same caliber used to kill Torres, by the way."

"You don't understand," she pleaded. "I carry that gun for protection."

"Yeah, yeah," Don said.

"You don't live here! You don't know!" Ortega yelled as a Hispanic mad with a shaved head and plenty of tattoos ran in front of the car. Don slammed on the brakes, cussing under his breath. Oliver knew instantly what was about to happen.

He pulled out his gun and yelled, "Hazel, get down!"

Don quickly slammed the gas pedal, but not before a man on a bike rode up to Hazle's window, pulled out a shotgun and fired. She screamed as gun went off. The man shot again as they took off, nearly hitting the gas tank. Don did his best not to hit anything or anyone as he drove, but he lost control and slammed into a parked motorcycle on the curb.

"Stay down! Stay down!" Don yelled between gasps. Oliver was already unbuckling and getting out of the car. Don followed his lead, pulling out his gun. He was about to get out, but a man with a semi-automatic hand machine gun walked up to the rear and began fireing at the glass. Don pulled himself back into the car, leaning over towards the passenger seat. Oliver was already out and crouching. As soon as he got the shot, he stood and fired three times. Two bullets double tapped the man's chest, the other nicked his arm. Don got out of the car and began walking forward as he fired on the man who stopped their car. Oliver walked around to the other side of the car to join him, but the first man escaped.

"Hey!" someone called from behind them. They turned, guns drawn, to see the man on the bike pointing his shotgun at them.

As if in slow motion, Oliver looked from the gun to Don as the man was squeezing the trigger. Oliver shouted, "Don, get down!", as he shoved the other man out of the way. Once on the ground, Don looked up just in time to see Oliver go down.

҉

**GARVEY PARK**

**CRIME SCENE**

The quiet street had become a shoot-out and then crime scene in an hour. Lindsey collected statements, Sheldon collected evidence and took photographs of Don's car, and Sid and his assistant were busy loading two body bags into their van. Don sat on the hood of a car as he and Mac watched them wheel by.

"Don…Don!" Mac said. He placed his hand on Don's shoulder, causing the other man to slightly jump. "Don, you okay?"

"That could have been me, Mac." Don said quietly so the other officers couldn't hear them. "If Oliver didn't shove me down, I would be in that body bag-"

"Don," Mac said gently, but firmly. "Tell me what happened."

Don nodded. "There were three of 'em with serious hardware. Oliver shot the first guy three times, the second one I was shooting at got away and the third one…"

"The one that shot Oliver," Mac supplied.

"Yeah, him I killed." Don looked over Mac shoulder at the ambulance where Hazel Ortega was being loaded into.

"Don," Mac tried to say but, Don stood up.

"Look, Mac, I'm all right. If it wasn't for Oliver, I'd be dead." He stared Mac down for a moment. "Where is he?"

Mac nodded to his left. Don looked over and saw Oliver sitting on the back of an ambulance with his shirt off. Don saw a cut Oliver right eyes and winced slightly when he saw the nasty bruises forming on Oliver's chest. Don got off the car and walked away from Mac.

"You look like shit, Flack," Oliver said as Don approached.

"You're the one to talk." A paramedic began to wrap Oliver's chest. Don could see the muscles in Oliver's jaw tighten. "How bad you hurt?"

"Cuts and bruises, mostly. Few cracked ribs." Oliver did his best to give a small smile. "Nothing I'm not used to." Don nodded slowly. "How're you doing?"

"I'm pissed. Hazel Ortega got shot in my custody."

"And they would have killed her and the both of us if we didn't shoot them right back. There was nothing we could have done to prevent that." It was silent for a moment, Oliver could tell something else was wrong.

The paramedic finished and walked away as Don said quietly, "You took a bullet for me."

Oliver nodded. "I did."

"You're stupid, you know that?"

"For getting shot? Yeah, I guess I am."

"You have a family to think about. If you had died, making me the one to tell your family, I would've dug up your sorry corpse and killed you again."

"Dually noted," Oliver smiled, saluting him with two fingers. "I will never take another bullet for your ungrateful ass again."

"Good. So, uh, I guess this means we're officially BFFs now." Don joked. Oliver tried to laugh, but he started gasping in pain.

"D-Don't make me laugh." Don chuckled and Oliver muttered, "Asshole."

Don handed Oliver his shirt. "But seriously, man, you going to be alright?"

Oliver held out his hand and Don helped him off the back of the ambulance. "Nothing alcohol can fix."

"That's what I'm talking about," He said as they walked back over to Mac.

Mac held out his hand. "How's the chest?"

"Hurts like hell," Oliver shook his hand.

"I'm driving you home-"

"Mac, it's nothing I can't muscle through," Oliver insisted as he slowly, painfully, shrugged on his shirt. He was buttoning up when Danny came over with a radio in hand.

"We got aviation, K-9, and all available units searching the area." He shook hands with Oliver. "Nice to see you alive, Ollie."

"The body of these ammo shells were inscribed with a letter…" Sheldon said as he walked over, looking down at the shells. "'P' for El Puno."

"They carve those Ps into their bullets as a method of ownership." Don said. "It's kind of intimidation."

"Well it's working," Lindsey said as he came over. She gave Oliver a hug around his neck. When she backed off, Oliver kept his hand on her back. "All the witnesses I spoke to who saw the shooters – they're not cooperating."

"This is revenge for Torres," Danny said.

"Or maybe it's supposed to look that way." Oliver said. "The Mambas could have carved the bullets just to throw us off."

"They're way of tying up loose ends?" Lindsey asked.

Mac walked over towards Don's car. "Whatever the reason, somebody pumped fifty rounds into an NYPD squad car and shot an officer." He turned back to the group. "I want them found."

҉

**NYPS CRIME LAB**

Oliver was walking off the elevator, his right arm across his ribs, when Adam jogged up to him. "Hey, heard you got shot. You're okay right? You look like hell. Do you know what Fishzilla is?"

Oliver chuckled softly. "Thanks for your fleeting concern. Yes, I am okay. No, I don't know what Fishzilla is, but it sounds like a bad name for a monster movie."

"I know, right. It's the nickname for the little thing I found at the bottle of the tequila bottle. Its real name is 'Snakehead Fish'. Right, and it's illegal in all fifty states."

"Couldn't have been that easy to get. How'd it end up at our crime scene?"

"Uh, I-I don't know, maybe it was left there as a message? You know, these things are pretty vicious. They eat everything, even their own kind."

"The message could be in the name. Snakehead…reference to the Mambas? Can you track down where you could buy these things and then figure out who purchased them?"

"Yeah, problem is its illegal and off the books. But, uh, I-I know a guy…that knows a guy, who knows another guy..."

Oliver patted him on the shoulder. He was heading out towards his office and away for the elevators, when someone yelled out, "Cohen!" Oliver turned to see Don standing in an elevator, holding the doors open. "We got a 10-13 at NYC Teaching Hospital, hostage situation. Hazel Ortega holding a security guard at gunpoint."

"Shit," Oliver muttered, jogging into the elevator. Don slammed the button for the garage.

҉

**NYC TEACHING HOSPITAL**

Oliver rode the elevator down to the E.R as Don coordinated with hospital security. When the doors opened up, there was very little activity from what Oliver could see. What he heard was Hazel Ortega shouting that she was going to shoot the second guard if the first security guard came any closer. He was trying to calm her down, but Hazel was in a panic.

"Back off! I said back off!" Hazel shouted.

The first security guard looked over at Oliver for advice. Oliver raised his palm in a stopping motion, signaling that he should back down. The security guard backed away, but kept his gun out.

"Please let me go," the second security guard, a woman, begged.

"I've got to get the hell outa here. Shut up!" Hazel screamed. Oliver slowly glanced around the corner to see Hazel, dressed in a gown with her left arm in a blue sling, holding the female security guard by the collar with one hand and with the other, she aimed a gun at her chest. As she walked forward, the hospital staff cleared away. "I will shoot her. Get back!"

"Hazel," Oliver said calmly.

A few hospital staff nurses screamed as Hazel turned towards Oliver, the gun pushing deeper into the guard's uniform. Hazel glanced down at Oliver's belt to see him wearing a NYPD gold shield next to his holstered gun. "Don't pull that gun!"

"Remember me from this morning, Hazel? Oliver Cohen." Oliver kept his hand on his holstered gun as he slowly walked closer. "I was with you during the shooting."

"Y-you look like shit. You get hit?"

Oliver nodded with a smile. "You don't look so good either." He lost his smile and his tone became serious. "I don't want to see you or anybody else get hurt. Please put that gun down."

"I can't. They'll kill me."

It was a tense moment. Hazel kept her finger on the trigger as she looked from Oliver to the first security guard. Oliver glanced over at the first security guard, too, before taking his hand off his gun. Hazel noticed and visibly relaxed a little.

"You're protected here." Oliver told her.

"The same way I was protected in that police car?" She scoffed. "I have a bullet in my arm that says 'Hell no'. I didn't kill him. You have to believe me."

"I do, Hazel." Oliver took another small step forward. "That's why I haven't shot you. Yet. Please don't give me a reason. Put the gun down."

"I don't run with the Mambas." She insisted. "I've made some mistakes in my past that I'm not proud of, but I'm not like that anymore."

"If you're not like that, then why are you doing this. Don't let this be another one of your mistakes. Prove to me that you've changed. Put. The. Gun. Down."

"Not until you listen to me!" She jammed the gun closer to the security guard. "All I did was show up and do my job. I was paid; I packed my things to leave, but Panthro wanted one last kiss. I kissed the mirror. There was a knock on the door and Panthro answered it….He was alive when I walked out of there."

"Hazel, listen to me," Oliver said gently. "There was only one exit and entrance out of that hotel suite. Tell me who you saw."

The gun in Hazel's hand began to shake. "I-I just wanted to get out of there."

"I know," Oliver whispered. He gave her a nod and she nodded back, letting the security guard go and dropping the gun onto the floor. The security guards were carting her away in handcuffs when Oliver's ringtone for Mac sounds. "Cohen."

_ "I just got done talking to Luther Devarro."_

"He confess to ordering the hit?"

_"No, he says he kept his word to me. He thinks it's someone else in his crew."_

"What is he going to do about that?"

"_Hand us a gift – the surviving shooter. I'm sending a uni to the corner bodega on 16__th__, that's where he'll be."_

"Need me and Flack for I.D?"

_"Later. Right now, I need you to tell me if we have I.D on the two D. from the scene."_

"Ed Rios and Marty Lobos. Both are young soldiers in El Puno. What are the odds of this third guy matching up?"

҉

**NYPD CRIME LAB**

**CONFERENCE ROOM**

Oliver was placing three more pictures onto the El Puno board while Don sat in one of the chair, reading a file. When Mac walked him, Don said,

"Hey. So, Luther's tip paid off. Mario Sandaval was picked up at the bodega. Positive I.D from Ollie and me places him at the shooting, along with his confession. Hell, he was practically gift wrapped – carrying a duffle bag containing a shotgun and a MAC-10."

"And like Ed and Marty," Oliver said, placing red 'X's over their picture's eyes, "he's also a soldier for El Puno."

"Good." Mac nodded, tapping the file in his hand on the glass table. "One shooting solved, but Torres' killer is still out there."

Oliver was about to say something, but the ringtone for David – Grey's Anatomy theme song - began playing. Don raised a single, humorous eyebrow. "Fiancé." He flipped it open and quickly said, "It's not a good time-"

_ "Are you Oliver Cohen….Doctor King's fiancé?"_ It was a woman's voice, light yet with a trace of fear in it. Oliver could tell she was nervous about something.

"Who is this?" Don and Mac looked over at Oliver with his change in tone.

"Oliver-" Don tried to asked, but Oliver waved him down. In the background on the other side of the line, he could hear several voices talking at once, trying to get the woman to say what they wanted her to say.

_"M-My name's Heather Chandler. I'm one of Doctor's King's intern's and-"_

_"Give me this-"_ Oliver heard someone, a man, say before hearing Heather squeak in protest. _"Are you King's fiancé or not?"_

"I am. And I'm also a part of the NYPD and if somebody doesn't tell me why you have my fiancé's phone-"

_"Look, we don't know what else to do. Something happened and-and – just come down here, okay?"_

Oliver's face fell. He felt as if someone had pried open his chest and squeezed his heart. "Wait, what do you mean? What happened? Is-"

"_We're at the hospital. One of us will meet you in the lobby."_

-CLICK-

Oliver stood there is silence for a moment, holding the phone up to his ear. Hearing Mac's voice kicked him into gear.

"Is everything alright?"

"I-I have no idea. Mac, I need to leave."

"Go ahead," Mac nodded. "Where?"

As Oliver was rushing out, he called over his shoulder, "Hospital!"

҉

**NYC TEACHING HOSPITAL**

**LOBBY**

Oliver saw two out-of-place, white coated interns standing in the lobby of the hospital looking down at a black cell phone, flicking through the screen. When he got closer, one of the interns, a man, looked up and pointed at him. The female intern next to him looked down at the screen before nodding.

Oliver walked up and snatched the phone out of their hands. "Where's David?"

҉

**ELEVATOR**

The two interns riding in the elevator next to Oliver were the two interns that he had spoken with on the phone – Heather and Mike. Heather stood next to Oliver in front of the steel doors and Mike leaned against a rail in the back.

"Car crash came in earlier today." Heather began reporting as fast as she could. "Sean Davis - young male, early twenties - was hit head on by a transport van earlier this morning. The van's driver has a few broken bones, nothing major, but the kid's messed up. He was assigned to Doctor King. We managed to get him stable after a few hours, but we couldn't operate until the swelling went down-"

"Get to the point. What does this have to do with David?"

"Sean's emergency contact was his boyfriend, Paul. Hospital contacted Paul, he came only to tell King to let Sean die before leaving again. We pressed on with the surgery, but two hours in, something went wrong. Sean died on the table. We were coming out of the O.R when a nurse told us that Paul had come back."

"Again, what the hell-"

"Paul left because Sean slept with a co-worker." Mike said over Heather as she tried to talk. "Everyone knows King stepped out on you, twice, with some other doctor here."

"Mike," Heather hissed. She turned back to Oliver with a slightly apologetic look on her face. "King walked off after hearing about that, we don't know where he went. We finally found him about twenty minutes ago."

"He could just be taking a cold shower," Oliver said, more as to convince himself.

The doors opened. Heather held them opened with her hand, but stayed in the elevator, looking pointedly at Oliver. "The look on his face wasn't good. It scared us." She lowered his voice. "W-We're afraid of what he might do."

"Why would he do anything?" Oliver said in a normal tone.

"Because guilt's a powerful thing." Mike said. Oliver's jaw tightened. "Easy to say he made a connection with this case."

Oliver turned back to Heather. "Where is he?"

"Locker room."

҉

**LOCKER ROOM**

When Oliver waked in, he was greeted by the utter darkness of the room, the smell of industrial strength cleaner and the sounds of water dripping onto tile flooring. He bumped his shins a few times on benches while navigating his way towards the back where the showers where. Barely making out a shape on the floor, Oliver flicked the lights on for that side of the locker room. David was on the floor, under an active shower, fully clothed, with his back against the wall, his legs pulled up to his chest with his head in between.

Oliver didn't say anything. He picked up a grey blanket off of the nearest bench and turned off the shower before kneeling down and wrapping the blanket around David's shoulders. When David looked up at Oliver, his heart nearly broke at the sight of how empty David looked.

"Shouldn't you be with the kids?"

"Got called in after you left the recital," Oliver said as he rubbed the blanket over David's shoulders. "How's your day been?"

"This day sucks. I hate this day."

"Yeah? Tell me about it."

David shook his head. Water from his hair flung onto Oliver's face. Neither of them seemed to notice or care. "Not important. Doesn't matter."

"If it didn't matter, then why were you taking a cold shower in your scrubs?"

"If you can think of a reason, any reason at all, why the universe is so screwed up and ironic and cruel, now would be a fucking amazing time to tell me because I am so God damn lost right now." David sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. He did it a little too fast, because the sound of his head connecting with the wall was loud. "I don't know, Oliver. I-I just needed to get away. Needed to think."

"What've you got to think about?"

"Us, mostly." Oliver must have looked confused, because sighed again. "I cheated on you. Twice. I tell you and after a week….all's forgiven. I'm sorry, but I can't help but think it's not. That-That there's something else, something more, that I'm not seeing, because there is no way that you could have forgiven me that fast. Not after what I had done."

"David, you're overthinking this-"

"Am I?" David looked hurt. He stood up, the blanket falling from his shoulders. He walked over to his locker, threw it open and began changing into another pair of royal blue scrubs. "Oliver, I don't want to be like that kid on my table. I don't want to be dying and not have you right next to me. I don't want you to forgive me until it's too late!"

"I've already forgiven you, David! What more is there to do?!"

"I don't know!" David yelled back. He slammed his locker door and turned around, his eyes red.

"David Bryant King, you listen to me," Oliver stepped forward and held David's head between his hands. "I can't think about anybody other than you. I can't sleep…I can't breathe, I can't eat without knowing that I love you. I just – I love you all the time, every minute of every day. It hurts how much I love you. Yeah, I forgave you a little too early, but if forgiving you means that I can keep you, than dammit I will. Do you understand me?" David nodded, biting his lower lip. Oliver pulled their heads closer so that their foreheads where touching. "Now, close your eyes. Clear your heart. And let it all go."

҉

**NYC TEACHING HOSPITAL**

**CAFÉ**

Oliver waiting at a wrought iron table for David to come back with their coffee he'd ordered ten minutes ago. It was understandable, perhaps common, because the café was extremely busy. There were hardly any chairs or tables inside, let alone outside where Oliver was. He kept his eyes out for David, but lost him somewhere in the crowd. He thought he spotted him but instead spotting somebody else.

"Doctor Rhys!" Oliver called out, cupping his hands over his mouth to amplify the sound. A man in his mid fortys with grey streaking his brown hair and a pencil moustache looked curiously over at the tables. Oliver raised his badge and waved him over.

"What can I do for you, Detective?" Doctor Rhys sounded annoyed. "I am a very busy man."

"I understand that, Doctor. I was hoping for an update on a patient of yours, Hazel Ortega."

Doctor Rhys sighed. "I see a lot of patients in one day; I can't remember all of their names."

"This one pulled a gun in the middle of you E.R." Oliver said firmly. "Remember now?"

"Ah, yes, the feisty Hispanic woman….what of her?"

"Can you give me an update?" Oliver prompted him.

"Medically, no, but something rather…peculiar did happen not too long ago."

"Peculiar?"

"Ms. Ortega's medical bills have been paid in full. A young man…Fernando Flores…came in with enough cash to cover all her expenses. I didn't like the look of him in my E.R; very sketchy looking if you ask me."

"That's a substantial amount of money, Doctor."

He shrugged. "Is that all detective? My coffee isn't getting any warmer."

Oliver waved him off as he dug around in his pocket for his cell phone. David sat down at the table with their coffees while Oliver punched in Mac's number. "Mac, I've got something."

_"Concerning Torres' case?"_

"Yeah, and Hazel Ortega. Fernando Flores just came in here not too long ago and paid, in cash, all of Hazel bills. I recognized the name – he's on my board in the conference room."

_"I've seen Fernando...with Luther." _

"He's also a friend of the guys who shot at me and Flack today." As soon as the words came out of Oliver's mouth he instantly regretting saying that in front of David, because coffee shot out of his mouth, nearly choking him.

"You were shot at?!" David yelled. Half the café turned to look at them.

Oliver waved at him to be quiet as he listened to Mac say, _"I think it's time we kept an eye on him."_

Oliver nodded. "What about Hazel Ortega? What does the evidence say about her?"

_"Sheldon thinks she's innocent. He compared the bullet from Torres' body to her .45. The stria doesn't match."_

"Yeah, I don't think she used a different gun." Oliver sipped his coffee. It was still hot, so it burned his tongue. "What I saw in her eyes at the hospital was genuine fear."

_"I agree; she obviously saw something that terrified her in that hotel room. I'm beginning to agree with Sheldon. When he pieced together the bullet fragments Sid gave you, the ones from Panthro Torres' chest, he found the exact same inscription that was on the ammo from Hazel's shooting."_

"Two shootings. Same signature."

_"One gang – El Puno."_

"So Torres' murder wasn't a rival hit by the Mambas. It was an inside job. Just like the snakehead Adam found in the Tequila bottle; someone in El Puno is eating one of their own."

_"I issued the call to bring in El Puno's power players – Lisa Brigosa, the Devarro brothers….Rick and Luther….and Fernando Flores. Each one of them is a potential suspect or a potential victim."_

"Want me to come in?"

_"Not if there's something wrong-"_

"No, Mac, it's good. It's all good. Just, uh," Oliver looked over at David and smiled, "nothing to worry about. I'm heading out now. Where do you need me?"

_"Everyone has already headed out. Don's got Luther; Danny's got Rick; Lindsey's got Fernando's work; I'm heading to Brigosa's restaurant. Meet us at the prescient."_

"Got it." Oliver hung up. He shoved his cell back in his pocket as he reached for his coffee with the other hand and stood up.

"Hold on, wait a minute," David said, stopping Oliver by grabbing his belt loop. "When were you going to tell me you were shot at?"

"Tonight; preferably when you were ripping my clothes off." David looked confused, but Oliver didn't give him a chance to speak. He leaned down and kissed him. "Sure you're okay to keep working?"

David nodded as he sipped his coffee. "I'll be filling paper-work out the rest of my shift before heading home."

"How about a few drinks before home?"

David raised his eyebrows? "I thought we were going to talk to Jane about this morning?"

"Shit…" Oliver sighed. He rubbed his jaw. "Got so wrapped up in work that I forgot. Okay…okay, how about this? You meet me for drinks after work, I introduce you to my co-workers and then we can verbally abuse our daughter."

"I-Introduce me….as what? You're future brother-in-law? Your roommate?"

"No," he smiled. He leaned down to whisper against his lips, "As my fiancé; the man I am madly in love with."

"Oh, that's better." David smiled against Oliver's lips before quickly pecking them. "Go, get to work."

"Right. Thanks for the coffee."

҉

**BRIGOSA'S RESTAURANT**

Halfway to the crime lab, Don called Oliver, informing him that there was an explosion in Brigosa's. Fernando was walking out the front door seconds before Mac gave chase and the restaurant exploded. They don't know if he did it, or if anyone was in there, but Mac wanted them all working the scene.

Oliver had to park a street down, because the crowd surrounding the explosion was too thick. They were all clamoring, pointing, and yelling at anyone who would listen. They all wanted to tell their side of what they saw, but mainly wanted to see what had actually happened. Oliver flashed his badge at a uniform standing beside a fire truck. He lifted the yellow tape for Oliver to duck under.

"Biggest crime scene crowd I've seen yet." Oliver told the uniform as he put his badge back into his pocket.

"Explosions tend to draw them out. That, and serial murders. Anything that'll hit the headlines."

"Sad." As Oliver put on his purple latex gloves, Mac walked out of the windowless frame of the blackened building. Mac waved him over.

"Fortunately, the place was nearly empty when the explosion occurred," Mac said as Oliver walked up.

"We have a casualty?"

Mac nodded at the black body bag being wheeled out by Sid's guys. "Lisa Brigosa. She was sitting at a table in the middle of the room when the blast hit."

"Who's working the scene?"

"The Messers'." Oliver looked over Mac's shoulder to see Lindsey and Danny walking around with flashlights, collecting evidence and taking photos.

"I don't get it," Oliver shook his head. "Two major members of the same crew are murdered on the same day? Please tell me you do not believe in coincidences."

"No, I do not. Someone is trying to take out the leadership."

"Don said Fernando Flores walked out before the place blew."

Mac looked back at the building. "He looked me straight in the eye and then took off."

"Next generation takeover."

"Hey," Don called out. Mac and Oliver turned to see Don jogging over from the yellow tape containing the scene. "According to the witnesses, Brigosa ordered everyone out of the restaurant, claiming she had an important meeting to conduct. Next thing they know, the place went up."

"That meeting saved lives. Anybody know who she was talking to? Fernando, maybe?" Oliver asked.

"Can't say." Don shrugged.

"I want an APB on Fernando Flores." Mac ordered. "Let's get his photo to every media outlet in the city."

"I might have found the origin of the blast," Lindsey said, leaning out of the windowless frame. "Behind the bar, there's a severed gas line. Whoever did it left us a palm print."

"So he sealed the place up, cut the gas line…he still needed a spark." Oliver said.

"Right," Lindsey nodded. "Next to the line, there's a broken bottle that smells like gasoline with remnant of duct tape around the mouth. A rag was used as a wick."

"The makings of a Molotov cocktail." Don said.

"We're going to need more than Fernando running from the scene to make this stick." Mac said, turning to Lindsey. "Find me something."

"On it."

҉

**NYPD CRIME LAB**

**CONFRENCE ROOM**

Again, Oliver is at the El Puno board, attaching a post-it note with a forwny face to one of its members. This time, it was Lisa Brigosa. He looked over his shoulder when someone rasped their knuckles on the glass window.

"What'd Sid say?"

Mac walked over and stood beside Oliver, starring at the bored as he filled him in. "The blast wasn't the cause of death; there was no smoke inhalation in her lungs."

"Seriously?" Oliver turned his body slightly towards Mac. "She looks like a cooked hot dog."

A smile ghosted at Mac's lips. "Lisa Brigosa was killed before the explosion. He charred clothing covered up two bullet holes over her heart. Mushroomed .45s."

"Same as Torres." Oliver mused, tapping his red sharpie against his lips. "Backs up Sheldon's theory of someone inside El Puno taking out its leaders."

"That restaurant was El Puno's main location for laundering money. It was the heart of the organization. Why go the extra step blowing it up?"

"Cripple the remaining power players, I suppose."

"Isn't that what you Marines do with countries?" Danny asked as he walked in. "Strategically replace all leadership with your own?"

Oliver turned to his friend with a smile on his face. He pointed the red sharpie at him. "Watch it, Messer. All Marines are riflemen first. Best your remember that."

"Ah, now seem, you'll have to deal with my wife after that. It's you who should be watching it."

Mac chuckled. "What do you have?"

"Our killed shared a drink with Lisa Brigosa before killing her; just like Panthro Torres. Found a witness," he held up an index finger with one hand while the other dug a jar out of his lab coat. He walked it over to Mac. "Fishzilla. Unfortunately, he's a bit crispy at the moment."

"Cajun style," Oliver said as he handled the jar, "my favorite."

"Yo, Cohen," Adam yelled as he jogged down the glass wall of windows, lightly knocking on them until he reached the door. He poked his head in, holding out an orange file. "Remember that friend of a friend I was telling you about?"

"Yeah?" He turned toward Danny, handing him the jar back. "Any luck?"

Walking over towards the little group, he reported, "The smuggler was just arrested by the Federal Fish and Wildlife Department. Wanna know his specialty?" Adam tapped the folder gently on Danny's jar. "Snakeheads."

"Guess there's a black market for everything." Danny shrugged the jar back into his pocket.

"Supply and demand, dude. Now, our fish smuggled remembers a tough looking Puerto Rican guy buying from him."

"He get a name?" Mac asked, gesturing for the orange file.

Adam handed it over. "No, but he did specifically ask for three snakeheads."

"So our killer asked for three, and only two of them have been used…" Oliver mused, turned back towards the El Puno board. "Meaning one target is left – either Rick or Luther Devarro."

Mac turned back to Danny and Adam as Oliver thought the problem out. "Who's working on what right now?"

"Lindsey's got the hand print from the Brigosa explosion," Danny said.

"Hawks is working on the bullet fragments," Adam said.

"Correction," Oliver said as he pulled out his phone to check the text message from Lindsey. He looked up at the group. "Lindsey's got a match."

Mac's jacket pocket buzzed with its own text message. Both Adam and Danny looked down at their own pockets to see if they would ring too.

"Don picked up Fernando Flores."

҉

**POLICE PRECENT**

**SQUAD BAY**

Don was coming out of an interrogation room when Oliver and Mac walked into the squad bay. AS he walked over, Don said,

"Fernando Flores agreed to give himself up only if he speaks to you," He pointed his index finger at Mac. Oliver looked over at his boss curiously.

Mac starred at Fernando while he spoke to Oliver and Don. "Wait in the squad bay."

A uniformed officer guarding the door opened it up for Mac and shut it behind him. Naturally, Don and Oliver headed towards the observation room next door. They shut the door behind themselves and through the glass to see hear Fernando say,

"Detective. I hear you're a fair man. So I'm here now."

"To make a confession?" Mac silently drummed his index and thumb on the back of the steel chair in front of him. Fernando hung his head. "I want to know why you killed Panthro Torres and Lisa Brigosa."

Fernando looked him square in the eye, about to give a full confession, but Mac beat him to it. "I want to know why the Devarro brothers are letting a kid take the fall for their crimes."

"I-I don't know what you're talking about…" Fernando stumbled over his words.

Don's phone beeped. He looked down at it before quickly rapping on the glass with his knuckles. He turned to Oliver. "Narrowed the search grid to about two blocks."

"Gearing up?"

"Gearing up," Don nodded.

҉

**MAC'S AVALANCHE**

Oliver sat shotgun to Mac, holding a shot gun and wishing his flack-jacket didn't smell the way it did. He wiggled his earpiece in his ear, clicked on his radio and gave his weapon a final once over as Mac talked to Don on the radio. Oliver caught the tail end of what Don was saying.

_"We've got units scouring all over East Harlem. We'll let you know if we find them."_

The sirens wailed above their heads; red and blue lights flashed before their eyes; and any movement outside the vehicle seemed to slow for Oliver. He hasn't been like this – body gear, large weapon in hand in a moving vehicle, knowing you're about to go into a war zone – since the desert. He was slightly excited that feeling was back.

He began to miss it.

҉

**EAST HARLEM**

**SKATE PARK AT 124****TH****.**

Oliver stood ready, shot gun locked n' loaded, outside a graffitied, seemingly abandoned building beside a skate park. They had just received word from one of Don's guys that this building was a sort of El Puno hide-out/headquarters. Mac clapped Oliver on the shoulder as he came up to him, gun in hand.

"Plan?" Oliver asked, looking around for any sign of trouble.

"Enter through the front door; you being on point, me covering your six."

Smiling, throwing the shotgun on his shoulder, Oliver said, "Just like old times, eh?"

Mac smiled back and shook his head. "Just like old times."

That's how they went in – Mac covering Oliver as he opened the door and entered the building. They crouched from the waist up, keeping their heads down and eyes sharp, as they tip-toed down a short hallway. Around the corner was a small set of stairs. Mac tapped Oliver's right shoulder, signaling that he was going to take the right side and the Oliver would take the left, yet staying in a column. As they crept further into the cold, wet building, they heard the sound of a glass being set on a table and Luther saying,

"What are you carrying?"

Oliver held up his fist to signal that they should stop. They did, half hiding behind a pillar of concrete. A gun was put on the table. Someone else picked it up.

"Fernando's innocent." Luther said. "He's a good kid." Rick, presumably, scoffed. "The only reason he ran out of the bar was because he saw a dead body and smelled gas."

"All right, all right, all right," Rick said. "If it wasn't him, we'll find out who did it."

"But before that, somebody's got to settle up for the hot on Hazel Ortega."

Oliver's hand clenched even tighter on his shotgun. His teeth gritted. Mac peered around the pillar and saw Luther put Rick's gun down on the table in between them. He tapped Oliver's shoulder, telling him it was clear to move in cautiously. So again, Oliver took point with his shot gun and Mac stood beside him. Luther must have seen them out of the corner of his eye; because he stood up of the couch he was sitting on and drew a weapon. He was calm about it, as was his brother. Mac and Oliver quickly dispersed to separate pillars – Mac on the left, Oliver on the right.

"Put the guns down and your hands up!" Mac called out.

"You're crazy!" Rick yelled.

"You have the gun pointed at the wrong guy, Rick." Oliver told him.

"Whatchu talkin' about?" Rick asked, swinging his gun around to aim at Oliver's pillar.

"Luther tell him." Mac said. "Tell him he's next."

Rick laughs, even nudges his brother with his elbow. "You hear these cops? Tryin' to play mind games."

After a beat, Luther finally spoke. "This is none of your concern, Detectives."

Oliver sneaked a quick look around the pillar to see Rick's bravado fall along with his face.

"We found your prints behind the stove at the restaurant, Luther." Mac continued saying.

"What?" Rick shuffled from foot to foot, looking over his shoulder at his older brother. Oliver got down on one knee and took aim. "W-What's he tryin' to say, Luther? Huh?" Rick began panting, panicked from the prospect of his brother possibly killing off their 'family'. "You killed Panthro? And Lisa?"

"There was a time when crimes against people in the neighborhood were not allowed." As Luther spoke, he looked not towards his brother's questioning eyes, but to Mac Taylor.

"You still preaching that neighborhood garbage?" Rick spat. He turned his gun away from Oliver and onto Luther. Oliver nudged his position out a little further. "You were going to kill me for that?" Rick continued his panting, hissing out, "I'm your brother."

Luther lowered his gun and finally looked at Rick. "Then let's put our guns down and talk about it."

Oliver saw a tear mark on Rick's face. "Nah." He shook his head, gun still aimed. "Nah. Later for that."

Mac stepped out from his pillar slightly and Rick shot at him twice, one bullet nicking Mac near the elbow, before turning tail on running off.

"Mac!" Oliver yelled rushing over towards his boss, yet still keeping aim on Luther. Luther stood there, gun by his side. He kneeled down beside Mac and carefully took his arm. He looked back and saw that Luther was gone. Right now that didn't matter. He put his shotgun down and spoke into his radio clipped to his vest. "10-13. Officer needs assistance. Abandoned building beside skate park at 124th. All units respond."

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Mac tried to shoo him away.

"You got hit. You need to head back to the car and wait for back up."

"No," he grabbed onto the collar of Oliver's flack-jacket and used it to pull himself up. "We need to go after them."

Oliver was about to protest, but picked up his shotgun and cocked it. "I take point. Keep all your extremities in this time."

They went off in the direction the Devarro brothers did. Problem was, the space seemed to get bigger and the round pillars turned to rectangles, harder to see around and plenty more of them. Oliver looked behind him to check on Mac. He held his gun out with his right hand and kept his injured arm beside him. He was still sharp, still mobile, yet in a great amount of pain. Oliver had to give it to him – he was a Marine.

Mac tapped Oliver's shoulder. He needed to rest a moment. Oliver nodded and guided them to the closest concrete rectangle pillar. Mac leaned against it, panting in discomfort. Oliver swore at himself for not noticing the amount of blood Mac was losing earlier. With one hand, he stripped on his belt and fasted hit above Mac's elbow tight enough to make a make-shift tourniquet. As he did so, Mac called out,

"You're a man of reason, Luther. Come out, give yourself up."

"It's too late for me, Detective." Luther called back. He had to be close. Mac lifted his gun and nodded to Oliver that he was goo to go. Oliver took point again, slowly leading them on towards Luther's voice as he continued to speak. "I never intended to create something violent. It was never about guns and drugs, money and power. When they put me away, all that changed. Torres, Lisa, and my brother..." he yelled, "took what I created….just a group of guys trying to watch each other's back, taking care of their neighborhood…and they turned it into some…criminal enterprise. Sitting in my cell, hearing about how El Puno was the most feared and violent gang. Inmates coming up to me and paying respect. I wanted to tear it down!"

Oliver thought he heard shuffling coming from the other side to the wall next to them. He lifted his left hand and motioned towards it. Mac tapped his left shoulder to say he understood. He called back to Luther,

"Did you honestly think you could do that by killing the heads of the gang? They'll all be replaced by others."

Coming up to the break in the wall, Oliver swung out first, clearing the area before shaking his head at Mac. Mac nodded. Oliver waved his index finger at the open area to the right of them. Liquid was dripping from pipes above them, splashing on the ground below. With each step, a ripple would form, moving onto the next puddle. Mac was panting softly and stumbling slightly as he followed Oliver's lead. He tapped Oliver on the shoulder before leaning against a rectangular pillar. Oliver stood beside him and kept watch around them as Mac rested.

"I never intended to save the world." Luther said. This time, he sounded much closer. Oliver aimed towards a pillar not far from them where he thought the voice was coming from. "But somebody had to be held accountable. Those that made the same promise I did. Promise to protect the neighborhood, not to eat it alive. To defend it, not to become the worst threat it had ever known."

"This guy's poetic," Oliver muttered to no one in particular.

"Now you've caused even more bloodshed." Mac called back. "Killing people won't solve it. We're fighting the same fight. Why didn't you come to me? We could have taken them down together."

"Because old habits die hard, and we're different kind of people. I gain closure here, Detective, in the spirit of what I created. I have no other choice. It all ends here."

"Damn right about that…" Oliver said.

Luther stepped out from behind his pillar in front of Mac and Oliver's. Oliver sets his shot gun on him as Mac turns towards the clattering behind them. Luther pulls the trigger and fast as Oliver does. They both hit their target, only both cops are left standing.

Mac rushes towards Luther gasping on the ground, both guns lay fallen beside him. Oliver turns and heads towards the second body – Rick Devarro's. He kicks the gun away, shot gun aimed at him, but it's pointless. He's as dead as a doornail.

Oliver had shot Luther, thinking he was going to shoot him or Mac, but instead shot Rick, who in fact was aiming at him and Mac. Luther was right; it was all end here. Oliver kept his distance from Mac and Luther. Mac was attempting to reach help on his radio, but Luther said, through labored breathing,

"Don't, Mac…I started it. I end it. That includes me." He gasps from air.

"The rules of the street." Mac said quietly.

"This wasn't about taking over…" he began to cough up blood, wheezing with every breath. Every word was painful, but they needed to be said. "This was about making things right."

And with his final breath, he did.

҉

**OUTSIDE FLOREY'S BAR – NIGHT**

Oliver stood down the street a little ways, getting out of his car as he talked to David on the phone.

"You're still coming tonight, right? No other hot dates planned?"

"Other than the one we have with our daughter…?"

Oliver winced as he locked up the car. "Please, dear God, don't ever say the words 'daughter' and 'date' in the same sentence for at least another twenty years. Please!"

David's laughed warmed the night's cold air against Oliver's neck. "It's going to happen one of these days."

"Not if I can help it. Lock her away in a tower if I could. Anyway, the place we're meeting at is a little sport's bar called Florey's-"

"I know the place. A few of us would go there after our shifts for a few drinks."

"Really now?" Oliver smiled.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"About to change the future of my career."

"I know," David said softly. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"All right. Love you. Drive safe."

"Will do."

Oliver slides his phone in his pocket, does the same with his keys, and heads towards the extremely packed bar. There was a football game on TV, and through the small doorway he could see that the small space inside was packed with drinking, cheering people. He couldn't even glimpse the bar, let alone see if the guys were inside.

There was a guy sitting on a three-legged stool outside of the single door. Oliver couldn't guess why a small, local bar would need a bouncer, but then again it was New York City as he was dutifully reminded every day.

"I.D." was all he said.

He fished out his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans and showed him his card. He glanced at it and nodded. "Five bucks cover."

He held out his hand.

Oliver pulled out a five and passed it over, and he pulled out a black tab from a small box at his feet. He gave it to Oliver and motioned him inside. Once in, he was instantly lost in the insane roar of conversations, clinking bottles and glasses, and the sharp smell of old beer, sweat and wood the small place generated. The glare of the TV screens washed over him, and turned all everyone in the darkened room odd colors, with twisted and distorted faces. He felt something small, yet slightly sharp pelt him in the right side of his neck. He looked over to see Don smiling, waving an almond in the air. He was standing at a tall, round table with Sheldon, Sid and Danny beside him. Oliver smiled back and surged through the crowded hot bodies around him.

"Finally! Thought you would never get here." Don said.

"So did I," Oliver said as he shook everyone's hands. "Could have told me how insignificant this place was."

"Hey! Watch it now," Adam warned loudly as he carefully juggled six beer bottles in his hands. "Don't be dissing Florey's."

"Yeah, the waitresses will go out of their way to avoid you." Sheldon added as he helped pass the beer around.

"Especially the hot ones," Don said. Sheldon held out his fist for a bump and Don gladly gave it to him. "My man."

"Lucky for me, unlike you losers, I don't have to worry about that," Oliver cast a glance over to Sid, "except for Danny and the Doc."

"I was about to say, have you met my wife?" Danny joked. "Yaknow, smokin' hot midget we work with?"

"So we've heard but never seen," Don said, his lips hovering over the bottle's opening. Danny gave him a confused look. "Talkin' 'bout this one right here," he shook his finger at Oliver with a smile. "We ain't just here for the drinks and pretty waitresses."

Oliver nodded his head as he took a swig of beer. "Don't try to deny it, but you guys in the crime lab gossip like little school girls."

"I-I am honestly offended," Adam pushed himself off the table, the hand unoccupied with beer held over his heart, a looked of mock hurt on his face, "that you would think so little of us geniuses. Now the more ape-like creatures in accounting, human resources and the police department," Don tried to jab him, but Adam dogged, "would most likely stoop to that level of immaturity."

"Well said Gossip Queen," Sheldon toasted him. Without skipping a beat, Adam saluted as he drank his beer.

"Seriously, though," Oliver said after he stopped laughing. "I'm tired of the question dodging and stupid rumors you guys come up with. Tonight's the end."

"I could care less about the rumors; I just want to meet the woman that's crazy enough to shack up with your ugly ass." Don smiled.

"Now," Sid said, rubbing his hands together, looking very cynical. "First question: what's your favorite spice to cook with? You seem more like a steak seasoning kind of guy. Am I wrong?"

"That's all you could come up with, Doc?" Adam asked, gently throwing an almond at him. "How 'bout this – the beginning. From birth until you walked into the bar. And…go!"

"Do you want to be here all night?" Sheldon asked, tossing an almond at him.

"Nah, I'll paraphrase." Oliver sipped his beer to get his throat clear. "Born in Halloween of '76; sister, Kenzi, eight years later in November. Few months after that, parents died in car crash. Drunk driving. Uncle didn't want us, terrible drunk himself, gave us to Waterbourne."

"The orphanage that burned down in '92?" Danny asked.

Oliver nodded. "Waterbourne's where I met Stella. She got shipped into the foster system a few weeks before the fire. Anyway, I took Kenzi and ran before anyone could put us in the foster system. I was sixteen and completely clueless, had no idea where we were going. One night, we came up on a farmhouse. The barn was a little ways away from the house, enough that I snuck us in so we could sleep in the hay for a night or two. Next morning, the farmer that lived there, Albert Lewis, found us and, instead of calling the cops, invited us in for breakfast. Thelma-May, his wife, made food that must've come from heaven or something. Joe, Albert's twenty-two year old son, gave me some clothes to change into after I cleaned up a bit. Albert walked in to check on me and saw the damage the orphanage did. He said we could stay on his farm as long as we wanted as long as I worked in the field with him and Joe and Kenzi in the house with Thelma-May.

"Year later, Albert and Thelma-May adopted us officially. Wouldn't let us change our last names though, said it would be disrespectful to our parents. Year after that, I knocked up my girlfriend."

There was a collective wince. Oliver just shrugged and drank his beer.

"You were, what, eighteen?" Sid said. He rubbed his forehead. "I swear, if one of my daughters had gotten pregnant at that age…"

"Same here," Danny rubbed the back of his neck harshly. "Jesus, now you've got me thinking 'bout my little girl."

"That wasn't even the worst part…" Oliver warned in a low voice.

"How in the world is that not the worst part?" Adam asked.

"Liz was a drug addict. Heroin. Hell, I thought I could fix her and I guess I did for a while. She got clean as soon as she found out about the baby."

"I don't see how that's getting bad." Don said. "I mean, heroin addict for a mom's not a good thing, but-"

"Staying clean was too much of a challenge for her. Shot up to try and kill the baby," Oliver growled, downing the rest of his beer.

"Oh my God…" Sid muttered.

"If Thelma hadn't walked in when she did, we would've lost 'em both. My daughter had to be cut out of her junkie mother. _Four months early_."

"That is not good at all," Sheldon said, leaning into the table. "Her skin, liver and heart aren't fully developed yet. Survival chances at 22 weeks gestation aren't very well-" Danny elbowed Sheldon, gesturing to the painful look on Oliver face. Sheldon looked as embarrassed as he felt. "Sorry..."

"What happened next? Your daughter got better, right?"

Oliver pulled out his wallet and took out a picture of Jane's cheerleading team. They had just won some national competition and were gathered around a silver trophy about four feet high. Jane was in the center with her arms around the girls next to her, a proud smile filling her face. She wore the number fifteen on the front of her white and purple uniform. She had sent him this picture about four weeks before he came home. Oliver passed it around the table.

"She's gorgeous," Don smiled.

"Damn straight." Oliver chuckled.

"What about the mother?" Adam asked. "What happened to her?"

"Liz was put on bed arrest, but she broke out and tried to hit-up her dealer. He wouldn't sell to her, so she killed him and shot up. Cops found her and threw her in prision. Last I heard, she's still there." Oliver drummed his fingers on the table. Slowly, a smile crept over his lips. "Named my baby girl Jane Julia Cohen and shipped myself off to the Corps to give her a better life. One she deserved to make up for her mama's and mine."

"Dads will do anything for their daughters," Danny chuckled.

"True, true…" Oliver sighed, scratching his forehead for more information. "Let's see…in 2000, I shipped out to Iraq. Fine place if you like sand, athlete's foot and being shot at. After a few months, my platoon was given a search and rescue mission – a civilian doctor had gone and got captured and was being moved to Baghdad to be executed on TV."

"Let me guess," Sheldon smiled. "That doctor was you fiancé?"

Oliver smiled. "Dumbest genius I have ever met, that's for sure. We got to know each other better and better and…._better_," he gave a coy smile. "In 2003, we bought an apartment here in the city. Fiancé was given a prestigious surgeon's position and things were looking up – Kenzi moved in and was about to graduate from High School; Jane was loving almost being ten; and we were thinking about having another baby." Oliver started laughing. "Shitty thing was, I shipped out for another tour about a month before Katherine was born."

Everyone started laughing with him. Maybe it was the beer, but they were enjoying going through Oliver's history. I was nice knowing someone like this.

"Damn, you cannot catch a break, can you?" Adam asked, tossing an almond at Oliver. Oliver's face slowly fell and he went back to drumming his finger on the table. The guys soon picked up on it. "What is it?"

"Katherine was diagnosed with leukemia a few weeks after being born."

Adam wanted to punch himself in the face, repeatedly. "Man, I-I'm so sorry. I didn't know."

"I know, I know," Oliver waved him down. "That's why I'm telling you now. And before you ask, yes, she's doing good for now. Stable; remission might be in the near future." He smiled. "Sure as hell won't let it stop her from doing anything." He shook his head. "Back to 2004, we wanted another kid. 2005, Thomas was born. No problems, thank God, but I didn't get to see him until six months later over web-cam. Fast-foreword to 2010, you know the rest."

The table was quite for a moment, allowing all the past half-hour to sink in. Sheldon drank the rest of his beer and said, "Ever think about writing a book?" They suddenly got loud again with a roar of laughter coming from their table. Smiling, Sheldon defended himself, "No, seriously, you could make a pretty penny for that. If someone wants Godzilla worms, they sure as hell would buy that book!"

"All right, all right, enough," Don said suddenly, slamming his beer rather harshly on the table, shocking the group. "What's her name?"

"Exscuse me?" Oliver asked.

"Your fiancé!" It was then they realized Don was slightly drunk. Oliver looked over to see that while he was telling his story, a waitress had come by to give Don roughly two glass mugs of beer. They were both gone. "All we ever hear is 'my fiancé'. The least you could do is give us a name, picture would be better before she gets here."

"Well," Oliver said, switching a twenty for a mug of beer on a waitress' passing tray, "His name is David." He drank half the mug in one shot, swallowed harshly, chocked out, "I'm engaged to a man," before shooting down the rest. He kept the mug in front of his face as to not see his friend's faces. Complete silence follows, save the noise of the patrons cheering on the TV behind them. When he finally glanced over the rim of the mug, he saw Sheldon hand over a twenty to Sid. He slowly put the mug down. "What's the cash for?"

"We had a bet going," Sid smiled as he pocketed the cash.

"A bet for…what?" Adam asked.

"The Doc and I had been talking for a while now about whether or not Oliver here was engaged to a man or woman." Sheldon explained.

"He never directly mentions gender specific pronouns," Sid went on. "Easy bet in my opinion."

"You bet…on whether or not I was gay?"

"Yes," the two doctors said in unison.

"For twenty dollars?"

"Yes."

"Hell," Oliver smiled, "could've asked and we'd split to money. How'd you know anyway, Sid?"

Sid lifted a silver eyebrow. "Have you seen the way you dress?" There was enough of a sassy undertone in his voice to make the table laugh, melting the awkward tension between them.

"So…David, huh?" Danny asked nonchalantly, drinking his second beer. "And he's, uh, good to you and the kids?"

"He was the one raising them while I was overseas." Oliver was suspicious of the parenting routine coming from his co-worker.

Danny downs the rest of his beer and slams it down on the table. "I'm sold."

Adam follow suite. "Same here."

Don, with a beer in hand, wraps his free arm around Oliver's shoulders and leans in to whisper in his ear, "Doesn't change a thing. I'd lay down my life for you no matter what." He leaned away, yet kept his arm in place. He toasted the air in front of them. "You're starting to become a brother to me, man. Nothing but love."

"Agreed," Sheldon smiled, toasted him.

"Now," Sid asked, looking down at his watch, "when will he get here?"

"How about now?" A voice behind them called out over the crowd. Oliver turned and couldn't help but smile seeing David standing slightly awkward in a vintage Van Halen tee and faded jeans. Oliver took his hand.

"David, I'd like you to meet Don Flack, Adam Ross, Danny Messer, Sheldon Hawkes and Sid Hammerback. Everybody, this is David King." He winked at David. "My fiancé."


End file.
